


a renewal of faith, and of family

by SolivagantStories



Series: The Renewal AU [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Big brother Dream, Child Soldiers, Enemies to Friends, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Horns, Hurt/Comfort, I literally can’t tag half of what I want to without it spoiling something, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kinda, Temporary Character Death, This takes place during Dream’s Minecraft Manhunt videos, Tommy could practically have a character tag with how often I mention him, Tubbo goes off with a bang, Tubbo has ram horns because I can, Tubbo’s had a rough life y’all, also kinda - Freeform, because I can’t help myself, enemies to family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 59,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27308509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolivagantStories/pseuds/SolivagantStories
Summary: The rocket launcher leveled with his forehead until it was all that he could see. Stripes of red and white blocked Techno from view, but Tubbo could imagine his face was just like it was seconds ago, twisted and remorseful.For a brief moment Tubbo caught a glimpse of Schlatt’s grin, his goat-like horns stark against the backdrop of sky.Then—“I’m sorry, Tubbo.”—————————————————Tubbo dies. Then he wakes up. That isn’t exactly out of the ordinary. Except, the respawn magic must have glitched, because he’s now in an entirely different world, with no hope of seeing a familiar face./-/Dream honestly hadn’t planned on adopting this random kid while there was a manhunt for his head on a silver platter. No, really.[DISCONTINUED]
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Everything’s Platonic Babyyyy
Series: The Renewal AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2028499
Comments: 2031
Kudos: 3667





	1. Chapter 1

The rocket launcher leveled with his forehead until it was all that he could see. Stripes of red and white blocked Techno from view, but Tubbo could imagine his face was just like it was seconds ago, twisted and remorseful. 

For a brief moment Tubbo caught a glimpse of Schlatt’s grin, his goat-like horns stark against the backdrop of sky. 

Then—

“I’m sorry, Tubbo.”

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Tubbo woke with a gasp, hands flying to his head, to his skull. He tried to breathe, fingers tangling into his hair. He pulled lightly, the pain nothing compared to the fire of— of...

(—the bang, ringing in his ears, was that a distant scream?, red, red, red filling his vision—) 

Tubbo gasped weakly, heart beating wildly in his chest. 

Where— Where was Tommy? Oh god, where was he? He needed... he needed someone. He needed help. 

Why was he alive? 

Tubbo blinked, trying to steady himself. He carefully removed his hands from his hair, scalp burning. He was sitting in an unfamiliar field of grass, a few cows grazing in the distance. 

He held his breath, counting slowly. 

One. 

Two. 

Three. 

Think, think. What happened? 

Four. 

Five. 

Six. 

The field felt different from any near Manberg. Any of the ones he’d been in, actually. 

Seven. 

Eight. 

Nine. 

Had his respawn point been reset somehow? 

Ten. 

Tubbo sighed shallowly, head no longer spinning. He still felt unsteady, but he felt calm enough to brush himself off and look around.

He focused on breathing, on staying calm, as he slowly got to his feet. He could still feel the ghost of a firework, could still see red, blue, white, everywhere he looked. 

Tubbo tried to focus. 

His surroundings were pretty mundane, all things considered. A forest off to the left, seemingly oak, though he could be wrong. Everywhere else was field on all sides. Animals roamed freely, hardly paying him any mind. Tubbo allowed himself a smile. He loved animals. 

Wait. Wait— this field wasn’t familiar. None of this was. Tubbo scanned the forests, the horizons, searching for anything. Any landmarks at all.

This.... This meant.....

He— His respawn had been tampered with. 

His bed, the one that had been enchanted for this scenario, just in case, must have been destroyed. Someone must’ve wanted him to die.

Permanently. 

Tubbo slammed a hand over his mouth, suddenly sick. 

Schlatt. 

Of course. Schlatt had done this. Who else? Tubbo could still see Schlatt’s face as he’d called Techno onto the stage. He’d been so vindictive, so gleeful. 

Tubbo wondered how long he’d planned this. For him to die.

But—

But he wasn’t dead. 

Tubbo paused, scanning his surroundings again. This certainly didn’t look like the afterlife. He glanced downward, assessing himself for the first time. 

His clothes were the same as what he’d worn at the festival, a stuffy suit tailored just for him. He’d liked this suit, before everything. Sometimes he could forget what it stood for and just appreciate how good he looked in it. 

Other times it made him queasy. 

This was one of those times. He focused on something else as quickly as possible, swallowing his mounting nerves.

His hands looked pristine, nails intact. Nothing like the chipped bleeding fingers he’d gotten from scratching at the walls of the throne. (—please, please just let me out—) It was as if nothing had happened. 

That made sense, if he’d respawned. 

But he shouldn’t have. His bed had been tampered with. Or... most likely had been. 

Had some of the enchantment continued to work, miraculously? Was he just on some uninhabited corner of their world?

Tubbo suddenly felt very, very small. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

He sighed deeply, rubbing at his burning eyes. 

Tubbo had hardly gotten any sleep these past few days. This new spawn point wasn’t like any he’d had before. He was isolated, alone. He didn’t have Tommy to banter with, or L’Manberg to feel comfortable in. 

He was alone, in an area that might have people in it that didn’t like him. 

Tubbo kept an eye open every night, and it was only partially because of monsters. Lone travelers were dangerous. People who lived in the countries whispered of how they’d kill you on sight, all because you might have valuables. Valuables that would help with their death wish of a quest to defeat the Dragon. 

Tubbo didn’t plan on dying to any of them. 

It’d been days and he still hadn’t even heard a distant sound that could indicate human life. Instead, he fought off monsters every night, slowly gathering small cuts for his troubles. 

Tubbo perched in his tree, watching as a zombie stumbled past. It lurched drunkenly, and he groaned internally. Zombies were slow and stupid, yes, but where there was one there was more to come. 

Tubbo was really craving sleep right now. Or maybe just a familiar face. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Scratch that, he was definitely desperate for a familiar face. 

Tubbo had been traveling for weeks, avoiding random villages and larger gatherings of structures that might have been countries. He had yet to hear of any other travelers. Of any other form of life other than animals or monsters. 

It was lonely. 

It was so, so lonely. 

He couldn’t find any landmarks. Any rumors about Manberg. Any mentions in a village about Wilbur blowing anything up. Any stories about the legendary swordsman Technoblade working for a ragtag pair of exiles. 

Nothing. 

Tubbo had forgotten what it felt like to be alone. Even with Schlatt he’d had Fundy. He’d had Quackity. Niki. Even Eret, on occasion. 

This was different. 

Tubbo could feel himself changing as weeks went by. Before he’d relied on Tommy, on Wilbur, for recourses. He was content to work on his bees. He had his family, his friends, why would he need to farm? To mine? 

Now the first thought every morning was a question. How was he going to survive? How was he going to push onward, to find something familiar?

Tubbo wondered if, once he got back, he’d be of more use to the rebellion than he’d been before. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

He wasn’t even on the same world. 

Tubbo hiccuped, face buried in his knees. His back was pressed against a secure cave wall and a haphazard fort surrounded him. It was a false sense of security. At any time someone could come barreling in, killing him. 

Tubbo didn’t care. He sniffled, arms wrapped around himself. 

He’d traveled for so long he’d lost track of the days. It had to have been more than a month. In that time he’d seen so many different biomes, scavenged so much food. He’d survived. 

At some point, after finally staying at a huge village for more than a day, he’d had to face the facts. 

This wasn’t his world. His home. 

He’d never see his family again. He was dead to them. 

Tubbo whimpered into his knees, white noise overtaking his hearing. His eyes burned, tears spilling onto his arms. 

He’d heard rumors, fairytales, of respawning magic glitching. Of someone being transported to an entirely different world instead of on their bed. 

He’d never expected it to be real, much less happen to him. 

Tubbo bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut. He... He’d never see Tommy again. He’d never see L’Manberg retaken in Pogtopia’s favor. 

He’d never see the aftermath of his execution, he’d never see how Techno felt about it all. 

He’d never see anyone he knew, ever again. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Nowadays he sang just to fill the silence of the daytime. He wasn’t good at it, it’d always been Quackity’s thing, but he needed something to do. To hear. 

Tubbo sang of the sunlight peering through branches. Sang silly little tunes he’d made as a kid, hidden in his cottage. Sang of a river running through a small kingdom, full of hopefuls. 

Sang of friendship, and of not being alone. 

When night came, he didn’t sing. 

Instead it was a game of hissed breath and small grunts. A strategy full of smothered gasps. He was as silent as the forest in the daytime. 

Tubbo ran, when he couldn’t hide. Falling into the habit of gliding over the forest floor, as silent as possible. 

None of the monsters that kept him company ever managed to catch him. 

Until. 

Until one night he spotted fire. Flame. 

It burned so bright, too bright. He stumbled, ghosts of smoke filling his lungs. He gasped, eyes blown wide. 

It was too familiar. Ghosts of gunpowder and fireworks burned across his senses, and he froze. 

An arrow hit his side with a wet thud. 

It was a parody of a duel he remembered, from so long ago. A reminder of a friend he’d lost. A reminder that no matter how much he tried to survive something would knock him down, over and over again. 

The dry sound of clacking bones was his only warning before another arrow grazed his arm. He jumped into motion, trying to avoid. Trying to hide. 

Another arrow whizzed by his head. 

Tubbo ran, for the first time not even bothering to be quiet. He ran, tears blurring his vision and memories clogging his thought. 

All he could think was, pain, fire, distant screaming, remorseful apologies. 

An arrow slammed into his shoulder and he cried out, crashing into the dirt. 

Blood pooled beneath Tubbo’s fingers, sticky and familiar. He tried to push himself to his feet, tried to push on, but a wave of dizziness knocked him back to the ground. 

A clatter of bones. 

In a last fit of energy, he slid his makeshift sword out of its sheath and thrust it into the ribcage of the monster. The monster who was looming over his body, boney hands outstretched. 

There was a hiss of enchantment dissolving. Then the bones clattered to the ground with a sigh. 

He groaned deeply, wincing as the pain registered, his adrenaline fading away. 

Tubbo was so, so tired. 

The blood pooling beneath him grew larger and larger, until he couldn’t move without touching it. Blackness wavered in the corners of his vision, and he gripped the bones that were scattered around him, trying to push them into his pack out of habit. 

His shaking fingers blurred out of focus, and he tried to stand, hand clutching at his side. 

A wave of dizziness hit him, and he fell, darkness swallowing his vision.


	2. Chapter 2

Dream glanced at the kid passed out by the fire, frowning. 

He’d been out gathering supplies, unable to sit still even in the dark, when he stumbled on a kid passed out on the ground. Blood was pooling around his stomach, staining the forest floor.

He’d been shocked, standing stock still with the kid at his feet. 

He wasn’t shocked at the wound, or the blood. No, he knew all too well how dangerous it was out here. Especially when you’re all alone. 

And that was the kicker. What was a kid, someone so young, doing out in the middle of nowhere with no one else in sight? 

It was dangerous out here even for Dream. He shouldn’t have even been in this situation in the first place. He should’ve stayed at his campsite, hiding until morning. 

But....

He just couldn’t stand being cooped up in a corner of the woods when the world was crumbling around him. It didn’t feel right. He felt jittery, like if he stopped to rest for more than an hour he was doing something wrong. 

Traveling on the run nonstop was not something he could just switch off when he needed sleep, or peace of mind. 

And when he looked at this kid, this half-starved sickly kid, he saw himself. He saw the nights he couldn’t sleep without keeping an eye open and an ear out for trouble. When he had a bad day for hunting, having to go hungry yet again. 

Maybe that was why he’d patched the kid up. Why he’d dragged him back to his campsite, blood staining his fingers. Why he’d let him recover on his bedroll, even though that meant he had to sleep on the ground. 

Not to mention the fact that he’d like to think he was a decent human. And decent human beings didn’t leave little kids to die alone in the forest. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

The first time the kid stirred, Dream was by his side in an instant, hands hovering near him uncertainly. 

Dream held his breath as the kid groaned, eyelids fluttering. He had no idea what he was doing. He was a man of survival, of sticking to himself. 

Was he supposed to wake the kid up? Or let him rest? Which was better for his wounds? 

Dream made a split second decision, grabbing a container of water. The next time the kid stirred he lifted him gently by the shoulders, slowly bringing it to his lips. 

The kid whined lowly, face twisting. 

Dream froze, heartbeat loud in his ears.

Gray eyes blinked open, staring at his mask. They looked distant, unfocused. Dream held his breath as the kid blinked slowly, small frown pasted on his features. 

“Hey,” Dream whispered, feeling strangely like he was talking to a wild rabbit, “Can you— Can you please drink this? It’ll help eventually.” 

The kid just stared at his mask. In the sunlight Dream could make out things he hadn’t last night. Strangely, on either side of the kids’ face, were tiny horns. They were dark, practically the same color as his hair. With enough careful maneuvering, they could be hid entirely. 

Dream didn’t have time to wonder about them. 

“C’mon,” he said again, voice straining, “Please? I promise I’m not going to poison you.” 

The kid blinked, like he’d forgotten he was there, with Dream, before slowly opening his mouth. Dream felt a wave of relief as the kid drank with hardly any resistance. 

Dream felt shaky, even as he held the kid to his chest. This was way out of his comfort zone. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

It happened four more times. 

Dream had to hover, like a mother hen, four more times. Every time the kid seemed out of it, eyes glazed. The last few times he was murmuring nonsense though, so that was progress. 

The more aware the kid became, the more wary he was of Dream. 

Dream supposed that made sense. Whatever would force a kid as young-looking as him to live off the land must’ve been.... unpleasant. He especially didn’t like the patchwork of scars littered across the kids entire body, some so old they had to have been from years and years ago. 

Dream didn’t allow himself to think too hard on that. 

In any case, waiting for the kid to finally fully wake up was torture. Days had already passed, each one making Dream more and more jittery. 

Dream never allowed himself to stop. To relax. Even now, during a lull in the hunters, he didn’t stay in one place for long. 

And now here he was, sitting in a semipermanent campsite for the first time in... years. 

Dream glanced at the kid, whose breathing seemed to be getting smoother and smoother as the hours ticked by. 

It had to be worth it. Right? 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Tubbo snapped awake with a shout, jolting upward. 

His head spun, and he clamped his eyes shut, heart beating loudly in his ears. 

Where— Where was he? How was he alive? Again? Was the respawn magic permanently messed up? Would he never die? 

Tubbo’s hands flew to his chest, and he winced as he prodded at the bandages.

How had he woken up? Why wasn’t he still— Wait, why did he have bandages on? 

“Hey, you’re awake!” 

Tubbo yelped, hands scrambling for a sword. They met air and he immediately whirled towards the voice, tense and alert. 

He gasped, heart skipping a beat. 

There, sitting next to a dimly lit fire, was Dream. 

Tubbo heart stuttered in his chest as he analyzed the man, ready to bolt at the slightest movement. 

Dream looked just as rough as Tubbo did, with blood stains and dirt smudges all over his green top. His pants were even worse, they were white, and they looked like he hadn’t washed them in a month. A sword hung at his hip secured by a fancy belt and sheath. It looked way more expensive than anything Tubbo had managed to scrounge up. 

But, most jarring of all, was Dream’s face. Or, more accurately, lack thereof. 

Back before, and even during the war, Tubbo could remember the way Dream always shifted his mask to the side, allowing everyone to see his face. He’d never actually used it to its full potential, no matter how terrifying it would’ve been. He’d heard, once, that it was because Dream liked the better field of vision that he got when it wasn’t on. 

If that was the case, Tubbo wondered, why did he even wear it at all? 

But now. Now he regretted wondering. Dream with his mask on completely was... otherworldly. He looked inhuman in a way that Tubbo could feel down to his bones. So... inexpressive. 

Tubbo found himself, ironically, missing the days of their war. 

Anything was better than this. 

“Listen,” Dream said, voice raspy, “I get that you just woke next to a creepy stranger, but please. Don’t run off. You’ll hurt yourself.” 

Tubbo froze. He ignored the pulsing pain in his chest, never letting his eyes leave Dream’s hands. His hands, which were pointedly hovering away from his sword. 

“...Stranger?” Tubbo asked, head feeling far too light, “Aren’t you— Aren’t you Dream?” 

Dream bristled immediately, hand gripping his sword handle. Tubbo tensed. 

“....You know my name?” 

Tubbo knew he’d messed up. He still felt faintly dizzy, disoriented, but he tried to think. To survive. 

“I said,” he murmured, “I said... are you a dream? There’s never anyone... anyone out here, y’know. I’m alone.” 

Dream visibly relaxed, fingers slipping slightly on his swords’ handle. Tubbo watched every movement, wound as tight as a spring. He was ready to bolt at a moments notice. 

This was Dream after all. They may have been friends, once, but now...

Wait. No. There was no now. He was... He was in an entirely different world, right? Then... what was...

Tubbo started to hate thinking. It only made things worse. His head ached, pulsing with every breath, along with his chest. 

Dream was watching him, silent and intense. Tubbo couldn’t make out his face, but he seemed unsure. Which, if this was Dream, didn’t make sense. He never broadcasted his weakness. 

“...Um, are you hungry?” 

The question broke through Tubbo’s musing and he froze. Why was... Why would Dream be so nice to him? 

This wasn’t Dream. It couldn’t be. This was a different world. Tubbo groaned lightly, headache flaring. He hated all of this overthinking. 

He had a choice. Possibly starve or just die from wounds if he ran away. Or... stay and be awkward around this Dream lookalike. 

He knew which option Tommy would’ve taken, as stubborn as he’d been. But... Tubbo... Tubbo hadn’t seen a human in so, so long. And even if he looked liked Dream... 

“Yes,” Tubbo finally said, “But you don’t have to give me anything. I can go hunt or something.” 

Dream’s mask tilted in a way that almost felt judging. Tubbo felt his face heat up, arms weakly crossing over his chest. 

“....Yeah I know. Wounded.”

Dream shuffled through something for a moment before walking to Tubbo’s side of the fire. Tubbo tried to hide the way he tensed, ready to run, but he was pretty sure Dream noticed anyway. 

They were both silent as Dream handed him a bowl of soup, warm in Tubbo’s hands. 

Tubbo thanked him awkwardly. He only hesitated for a moment before slowly bringing the food to his lips, trying to savor every bite. He... He hadn’t eaten anything other than what he’d managed to hunt for so long. He felt so young, being handed food again. 

Dream watched him from his spot back on the other side of the fire, silent and steady. 

Tubbo tried to ignore him as he ate, but that sense of self preservation kicked into high gear every time he saw the mask in the corner of his vision. He couldn’t forget the fact that a Dream lookalike was someone here. Next to him. 

As the Dream lookalike awkwardly shifted from his position next to the fire, Tubbo sighed softly. 

He had no idea what he was going to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream: I’m a loner, the hunted. 
> 
> Also Dream: *becomes an awkward mama bear as soon as he finds a weird kid in the forest*


	3. Chapter 3

Tubbo honestly didn’t know what to do with himself. 

Ever since he’d finished eating they’d lapsed into a silence so full of tension and awkwardness that Tubbo was beginning to wish he could pass out again. Actually, he wasn’t that far off from his goal. His head still ached, his vision sometimes swimming until he blinked to reset everything. 

He sat on what must have been Dream’s bedroll, mind a mile away. 

It’d been a long, long time since he’d finally realized he’d never see his friends again. That he was on another world entirely. Sometimes it felt so surreal, so stupid, that he had to force himself to focus on the present or else he’d get stuck in disbelief. Disbelief could kill, as he’d learned early on. 

The only thing that made sense was that the bed’s enchantment had been tampered with, but not broken. 

Sometimes, especially in war, warriors would leave in the midst of a battle, as though they were never there. They’d disappear, leaving behind purple mist, before running back into the fray if their beds were close enough. They never remembered leaving, only dying and then waking up. 

If one was fortunate, they’d never have to see death. Only comrades returning. 

Tubbo wasn’t fortunate. He supposed he never was. 

Tubbo glanced at the Dream lookalike, who was studiously ignoring him. He watched as the man absentmindedly tapped on his mask, moving it more securely in place. 

It could be... It could be that this really was Dream, just from a different reality. A different world. 

Tubbo’s brain hurt. He groaned softly, rubbing his forehead. 

“Are you okay over there?” 

Tubbo jumped, staring at Dream. He... As much as he wanted to talk to someone again, after so long, he just couldn’t. 

Even if his theory was true and this was an alternate version, it was still Dream. 

And Dream was the man, the wrath, that had killed his best friend. It didn’t matter that Tommy had respawned. What mattered was the glint of joy, of accomplishment, that he’d seen on Dream’s face afterward. 

Tubbo stubbornly kept his mouth closed, staring straight into the mask’s eyes. 

Dream sighed , before nodding slowly. 

“I’ll take— I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, “I understand if you don’t want to talk, given everything.” 

Tubbo blinked. 

“Wait, you’re not even going to ask for my name?” 

There was a moment of silence, before Tubbo slapped a hand over his mouth. He watched as Dream’s mask tilted, almost mimicking amusement. 

“Well,” he drawled, “I suppose I should, then. What’s your name, kid?”

Tubbo froze, mind racing. Should he use his real name? Was it safe? Should he make one up? 

Or...

Tubbo swallowed, hands shakily clasping in his lap. 

“Umm,” he murmured, gaze fixed on the ground, “You can call me Tubbo.” 

“Tubbo, then,” he heard Dream say, “Nice to meet you, I guess.” 

At the sound of the nickname, Tubbo smothered a whimper. He hadn’t heard anyone call him that since—

(—a rocket, pain, pain, “...Tubbo!”—)

—since Tommy. 

Maybe he was a glutton for punishment. Maybe he was too sentimental for his own good. But the thought of never hearing someone call him that anymore felt so... wrong. 

Even if he had to hide his shaking shoulders from Dream. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Dream couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t sit in one place, just waiting until the next batch of hunters were sent after him. 

He couldn’t. Even if there was a kid sitting nearby, watching as he packed everything up. 

Dream thought as he stuffed his few belongings into a pack. He now knew Tubbo’s name. That... was nice. But it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be seeing the kid anymore anyway. 

Tubbo stood slowly, gingerly. Dream watched out of the corner of his eye as the boy winced, clutching at his chest. 

Dream felt a pang of guilt. He... He knew Tubbo had just woken up. That he wasn’t ready to be left all alone yet. 

But it wasn’t his responsibility, his duty. His duty was staying alive, moving. 

Besides, the kid probably didn’t want to be around him anyway. He seemed skittish, scared. Honestly, Dream could understand. 

Even if the thought of leaving an injured kid to the monsters made him grit his teeth and stuff his bedroll away harsher then he needed to. 

Come to think of it, he’d never asked if the kid had a bed enchantment. 

Dream scoffed under his breath. 

Of course Tubbo didn’t. No one unfortunate enough to be wandering could afford to have a bed enchantment. That required a home. Money. Trust. 

Tubbo moved towards him, and Dream subtly responded, turning to face him. His hands were always ready to dart to his sword if it came to that, but he knew that Tubbo was too injured to kill him. 

That didn’t make him any less paranoid. 

“I never did ask for your name.” 

Tubbo spoke the first words he’d said since their awkward banter a half an hour ago, his eyes still warily fixed on Dream’s mask. Dream understood. If a stranger in a mask tried to chat after he’d almost died he wouldn’t be too amicable either. 

So why... why was Tubbo asking something like that right when they were about to part ways? 

“Um,” Dream said, “I’m Dr— I’m Dre.” 

Tubbo’s face blanked for a split second, before he grinned. His smile held a bit of mischief, barely there, that made Dream nervous. 

He honestly hadn’t ever had to make a fake name before. Ever since his first manhunt, he’d avoided interacting with anyone. He avoided showing his face. He avoided telling anyone who he was. 

And especially avoided telling them where he came from. 

So... sue him if his fake name wasn’t exactly the best choice. 

“So, Dre,” Tubbo said, “Where are you going?” 

Dream paused. He really shouldn’t tell a stranger something like that. Especially a weird kid who had tiny ram horns and a past that Dream definitely wasn’t going to know about. Probably ever. 

He sighed softly. 

“Just wherever.”

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Tubbo honestly hated this. 

He’d finally confirmed that this really was Dream, and it wasn’t just some lookalike. Which, honestly, opened up a can of worms he’d rather not think about. Plus, Dream was now leaving. 

Leaving. Right after Tubbo had woken up. 

Maybe it’d been stupid. Naive. But Tubbo... he’d hoped that maybe Dream would stick around until he was healed. That he wouldn’t be alone anymore, for at least a bit. 

Who was he kidding. This was Dream, after all. 

Without thinking, Tubbo moved forward, hand outstretched. 

“Wait. I’m coming with you.” 

Dream turned back to him, silent. Tubbo couldn’t make out what he was thinking. Even his body language had evened out, frozen. 

Tubbo froze too, hand still hovering in the air. 

Why... Why had he said that out loud? He didn’t actually want to be around Dream any longer. Already he felt restricted, small beneath the gaze of the all too familiar mask. 

No. That wasn’t the truth. The truth was... he was lonely. 

He was just— just so lonely. 

And maybe... maybe a Dream that actually cared when a kid is about to die would be an improvement to being alone. To having to wake up to silence and suffocating thoughts. 

“You want to come with me?” Dream asked, voice hesitant. 

Tubbo paused for only a moment before nodding, wound tight as a bow string. 

Dream shook his head. 

“Listen, Tubbo,” he said, “It’s not... It’s not safe. I’m... There’s people after me. Not right now, right this moment, but they could come at any time. Any second.” 

He sighed. 

“I won’t subject a kid to that. Besides, I’m better off alone.” 

Tubbo knew that tone. He’d heard it a long time ago, from so many people. It was resignation. 

He’d heard it from Tommy, after a particularly harsh skirmish. He’d heard it from Fundy, when Wilbur ignored him yet again in favor of the nation. 

He’d never heard it from Dream before. It felt... so wrong, to hear the voice he associated with triumph and power so resigned. 

Tubbo set his shoulders, ignoring the pain in his chest. 

“Even that is better than what I did before,” he said, refusing to let his voice waver, “I don’t want to be alone. Please. If you leave me, I’ll die.” 

He hated pulling that card. The guilt card. He’d used it before, but it always put a sour taste in his mouth. He’d never used it on Dream before. The Dream he knew wouldn’t care. He’d just push on until he could do whatever he’d decided he would. 

This Dream, this strangely nice Dream, hesitated. 

“.....Fine,” he said, “But if you’re loud, or if I get any indication that you might get hurt, you’re getting dropped off at the nearest village.” 

Tubbo nodded. 

Dream sighed deeply, turning towards the forest. The only indication that he’d decided on allowing Tubbo to come was a lazy wave of a hand. 

Tubbo stumbled after him, ignoring the pain in his chest. 

He didn’t know what he should feel. Should he be happy that he wasn’t alone, that he’d gotten what he wanted? Or wary, given who he was with? 

Either way, he knew to be careful. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

George slipped some of his enchanted armor on, basking in the momentary high of the magic washing over him. He blinked, disoriented, before patting his hip. His sword was still there, glowing faintly in the light of the stable. 

“George, you ready?” 

George turned, smiling. 

Sapnap greeted him with a pat on the back and a ruffle of his hair. George retaliated quickly, punching his friend on the shoulder. They laughed, and for a split second everything was normal. 

Then George caught a glimpse of a compass in Sapnap’s hands, and he sobered. 

Sapnap shook his head, small frown already replacing his amusement. 

“What are you doing in the stables?” He asked. 

George shrugged, gaze on the floor. 

“I just wanted to say goodbye to the horses,” he said, tense, “Anything wrong with that?” 

Sapnap got the hint. 

“Nope, nothing at all, Gogy,” he said, voice lilting at the nickname. 

George snorted, pushing his friend playfully. He took one last look at the familiar stables, taking in the way the horses watched him. Then he shook himself off, turning back to the doorway. 

“C’mon, Bad’s waiting for us.” 

Sapnap nodded, falling into step behind George as they walked outside. 

The castle towered nearby, structures twisting into the air and shimmering with gold and green. Knights patrolled every inch, their clanking armor audible even near the stables. George winced at the noise. Even with armor on he and his friend had had to learn the art of silence. 

In the distance a figure waved at them, cloak flapping in the breeze. George waved back hesitantly. 

“Hey, George, Sapnap!” Bad said as they fell into step next to him. He grinned, fanged teeth flashing. 

“Hey, Bad,” Sapnap drawled. 

George watched as Sapnap and Bad talked, silent. 

Bad was a knight, not a hunter. It was obvious even in everyday conversation. You could tell he was strong, but every movement felt clunky in comparison to how Sapnap flowed. George didn’t know how valuable he’d be to their little team, but he hoped for the best. 

George wouldn’t admit it to Sapnap, but he was nervous. This was his first time working with a knight. The first time alive wasn’t an option when it came to bringing back their target. 

Honestly, he felt like he had a good reason to be worried. They were targeting Dream, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Tubbo having horns is out of left field, but I love that AU. And I just can’t help myself with giving people animalistic features, it makes me happy. 
> 
> I told my sister about that and she called me a furry.


	4. Chapter 4

George grinned as he pulled Bad along with him, unable to smother a laugh at his expression. 

“Look, Bad, look!” He squealed, pointing wildly. 

Bad smiled softly, nodding. His glasses reflected the light of the sun, and George had to look away, blinded. 

“It’s very cute,” Bad said, tone almost patronizing. 

George huffed. 

They were standing in a remote village, one on the edge of a beautiful forest. No matter how many times he visited one George never got used to seeing the livestock mulling about. He watched as the horses walked about their pens, a foal wobbling nearby. 

This was one of the only perks to his job. The traveling. 

“C’mon, George,” Sapnap said from the other side of the dirt path, “You see horses all the time in the royal stables. You don’t need to drag Bad everywhere.” 

George rolled his eyes. 

“Well, yeah,” he drawled, “But look, there’s also sheep! And, wow I can’t believe it, they actually keep pigs and chickens in a farm too!” 

Sapnap groaned playfully, leaning against one of the nearby huts. 

A villager caught George’s eye, and he smiled at them, waving just slightly. They blinked, frozen for a split second. Then their face twisted, and they ducked their head, slipping inside a building. 

He lowered his hand, mood sinking. 

George usually tried to ignore the way the villagers all gave them a wide berth, as though their very presence was dangerous. He tugged at his undershirt, reminded of the logo boldly carved into his armor. 

“Well I for one think horses are amazing,” Bad said, “Let George be happy, Sapnap.” 

Sapnap walked over to them, hand resting on his sword’s handle. George could tell he was tense, even if his friend was trying to hide it. 

“It’s not about keeping George happy,” Sapnap said, voice low, “We need to get going. No one here knows anything about Dream. We have a job to do.” 

George frowned, trying to make it playful. He ignored the tiny pang of hurt, glancing at Bad. 

“Ouchie,” he drawled, “That kinda hurt.” 

Bad laughed for a split second, as though to acknowledge him, before turning away.

George watched as the knight surveyed the few village residents that were still outside, immediately growing more serious. He knew he should be helping, but he’d always struggled with this part of the job. The part that meant talking, lying. 

The part that meant intimidating. 

George watched as Sapnap pulled the blacksmith to the side, talking with him in hushed whispers. He watched as Bad approached a kid who wasn’t as afraid as they should be, a friendly smile on his face. 

It was times like these when he felt the most useless. Unprepared for this kind of job. Not that he’d ever thought he’d have to be prepared, anyway. 

But still. 

George turned his attention back to the horses, leaning against the fencing. He watched as they stood there, in a field without a care in the world. The foal nearly fell over at one point, and he watched as its mother helped it along. 

He couldn’t hold back envy when he watched things like that. 

Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped, whirling. Sapnap frowned at him, hand still outstretched. 

“Woah,” he said, “No need to skewer me just cuz you’re losing your touch.” 

George rolled his eyes. 

“What is it?” 

Sapnap grinned, eyes alight. He patted his sword, bouncing slightly on his heels. 

“I got us a lead.” 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Tubbo didn’t know when exactly he’d relaxed. 

Maybe it was when Dream started ignoring him, acting like he wasn’t there. Like he was alone. Something about that small thing had made his chest loosen, had made him feel more comfortable in his own skin. 

He knew that, if Tommy had been in his place, he’d have been offended. He could practically hear it, the way his friend would’ve shouted. 

(—don’t just ignore me you green— you green— ugh! I can’t believe I got saved by someone so—) 

The thought brought a bittersweet smile to his face, even as it made him ache. 

Tubbo wasn’t like that, though. 

He’d been alone for months. Maybe over a year. Had it been years? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he was used to the way he could just... exist. Breathe. Think to himself and not have to worry about talking to anyone. 

Not that he’d enjoyed being alone. Quite the opposite. 

He caught himself glancing at Dream every few minutes, just to make sure he was still there. That he wasn’t hallucinating. 

So yes. Maybe that was when he started to relax. 

But it also might have been... it might have been when Dream started humming softly. 

Tubbo himself had done the same, when he was alone. Singing was something almost therapeutic. It was like announcing you were there. You existed, even in such a vast forest, such a vast world. 

A world that you didn’t belong in. 

When Tubbo first heard Dream hum he’d almost tripped over his own feet. His Dream, the one he was used to and the one he had to remind himself wasn’t who he was traveling with... That Dream had never sung. He was never casual around them. Never... human. 

So this casual humming, something he was sure Dream didn’t think anything of, made Tubbo almost want to cry. 

He bit his lip, suddenly fiercely glad he was walking behind Dream. 

It’d been hours since they’d first started walking and Tubbo was relaxed enough to ignore Dream, instead taking in his surroundings. It was still forest, trees on every side, but it felt different. Thinner. 

He wondered where they were even going. 

He probably should have asked that. 

The only sound was the methodical rhythm of their feet hitting the dirt, crunching among the leaves. Somewhere along the way Tubbo had made a game of trying to step in time with Dream without him noticing. He even hopped from footprint to footprint in the leaves, trying to stay as silent as possible. 

It was during this, when Tubbo was laser focused on stepping in the next footprint, that Dream finally spoke up. 

“How’s your wound doing?” 

Tubbo missed his mark, foot sliding on the leaves. He yelped, before snapping his attention to Dream. 

Dream had stopped walking. His body language, the only thing Tubbo had to go off of, seemed relaxed. Tubbo gulped, eyes shifting to anywhere but his mask. 

He’d honestly forgotten about his wound amidst his thoughts and the methodical rhythm of walking. 

“Um, it’s fine,” he said, suddenly nowhere near relaxed. 

Dream tilted his head. 

“I’m the one that treated your wound,” he said, “And trust me, it shouldn’t be anywhere near fine right now.” 

Tubbo shifted, suddenly self conscious. He must have blocked the pain out. He’d had to do that a lot, back when he was alone. Even before... the festival, he’d sometimes had to just suck it up and move on. 

Tubbo shrugged shakily. 

“I guess I’m just used to it,” he admitted, voice a whisper. 

He watched nervously as Dream stared at him, silent. It felt like a standoff, tense and quiet, before the man seemed shake himself out of it. He mutely turned around and continued walking, though Tubbo couldn’t help but notice that his steps were louder than they’d been before. Harsher. 

He wished he’d never opened his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, posting my writing on the internet absolutely TERRIFIES me, lol. 
> 
> Sorry for how short this chapter is, the next one’ll be longer, I promise!


	5. Chapter 5

Dream honestly wasn’t liking the image his mind was painting of Tubbo. 

The kid never complained once. Not once while they walked for hours on end with only a few stops to eat or just to rest. Dream knew that, personally, when he was that age he’d have whined every other second. Especially if he was wounded as severely as Tubbo was. 

But he just kept walking, as silent as a mouse. 

At least he’d done the whole footstep thing. That... now that was something childlike. Teenage-like. Whichever. It made Dream feel a bit better.

Dream shifted from his position next to their small fire, glancing at Tubbo. 

Tubbo was staring into the fire, shoulders tense. He was barely blinking, and something in his expression made Dream start to tense as well. 

He knew that expression. 

Having someone nearby, someone as quiet and mysterious as Tubbo, was messing with his nerves. 

“Um,” he said, “Tubbo?” 

Tubbo blinked, face twisted in confusion for a split second. 

“....Yeah?” 

Dream had no idea what he was doing. He just... He didn’t like this awkward air that they’d had all day. He knew it was his fault, he wasn’t the best at... human interaction, especially after everything, but he wanted to do something to make it better. 

“Do you have any questions for me?” He asked, chest tight with apprehension. 

Tubbo shifted from his position on the bedroll, eyes never truly looking Dream’s way. He seemed surprised, confused, and Dream didn’t really want to dig into that. 

“....Um.” 

“It’s okay if you don’t, I guess,” Dream said, suddenly worried he’d made a mistake, “I just... If you’re really so intent on staying with me we might as well know each other, right?” 

Tubbo finally looked at him. He didn’t look him in the eyes, Dream knew it was because of his mask, but he seemed to actually be focusing on him. He squinted, face shadowed by the fire. 

“Okay,” Tubbo said, slow and apprehensive, “...Where are we going? I... um, I probably should’ve asked that before. Well, I did, but you were all cryptic and stuff. Uh, yeah.” 

Dream smiled slightly under his mask. Tubbo’s ramblings were... sort of endearing. 

Then he registered the question. 

“....”

Dream... Dream couldn’t answer. 

Tubbo was looking at him intently from his position a few feet away. Dream suddenly felt small, tiny. He shifted uncomfortably, looking away even though he knew Tubbo couldn’t tell. 

“...I don’t know,” he finally admitted, voice small. 

Tubbo gaped. 

“What? But... But you said earlier that you were being chased or whatever!” 

As soon as the words left his mouth Tubbo flinched, visible even in low lighting. He slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. 

Dream hurriedly raised his hands, shaking his head. 

“It’s okay, you’re right,” Dream soothed, mind racing, “I... I have a general direction but... I don’t really know what to do. I shouldn’t tell you... I can’t tell you anything.” 

Tubbo was tense before, but now he was hunched uncomfortably inward. Dream could feel his chest ache at the sight, and he bit his lip. 

The implications of Tubbo’s body language... His horns... The way he flinched after calling him out...

Dream was reminded of himself, in a roundabout way. He pushed the thought away, not wanting to get caught up in that mess. 

It did bring up a lot of questions. Questions he, frankly, wasn’t very comfortable asking. And he was sure Tubbo wouldn’t want to answer. 

Tubbo was still visibly tense when he glanced at him again, and Dream scrambled for something to talk about, something to distract him with. He hadn’t talked to someone in so long. 

Dream took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. 

“Did you know I used to have a pet fox, Tubbo?” He said, trying make his voice as casual as he could, “It wasn’t a very conventional pet, but younger me was obsessed as soon as I laid eyes on it.”

Tubbo glanced his way, arms loosening from their death grip around his knees. Dream felt something relax in his chest as he watched the kid soften, if only slightly. 

“Really?” 

Tubbo’s voice was small, but it still made Dream irrationally relieved. He forced the emotion down. 

“Yep,” he said, “He was a rascal. The— Everyone at my house hated him but me.” 

Dream allowed himself a bitter smile, staring into the fire. 

He missed that dumb fox. It’d died years and years ago, but it still held a place in his heart. It was the only pet he’d been allowed to have. 

“I had a pet too.” 

Dream jumped slightly. He’d almost forgotten he had an audience. 

“My friend loved animals, even though he’d never admit it,” Tubbo said, eyes downcast, “His pets always seemed to meet unfortunate ends because of the— Yeah.” 

Dream didn’t miss the past tense. 

“What’s your— your favorite animal?”

Tubbo smiled, small and genuine. Dream couldn’t help but smile back, underneath his mask. 

“I really like bees,” Tubbo said, voice louder then it’d been the entirety of the night, “I don’t know why, but they’re so small and cute and fluffy, y’know?” 

Dream nodded, even though he really didn’t know. He’d never really paid attention to bugs and the like. Though he supposed bumblebees were cute, from a distance. 

Tubbo sheepishly gestured in his direction. 

“Are foxes your favorite animals?”

Dream... hadn’t really thought about that. 

He hadn’t really had the time or mental space to think about that sort of thing during the beginning of everything, and even before that he... he didn’t think about it. 

Dream shrugged, suddenly a bit self conscious. 

“I don’t really have one.” 

Tubbo practically looked offended, and Dream wheezed quietly at the expression. It was just... The kid seemed so personally attacked. His soft laughter seemed to only confuse Tubbo. 

He giggled, slipping a hand underneath his mask to smother the sound. 

“I dunno why I don’t have one,” he said, “It’s not that I hate animals or anything. I just wasn’t surrounded by many when I was younger. The fox was a one off thing.”

Tubbo nodded, and they lapsed into a silence that was more comfortable then before. 

Dream hummed under his breath. He watched as the flame crackled, smoke rising into air in small tufts. He should probably stop making fires soon, it wasn’t safe. He was only doing it for Tubbo, since he was wounded and having a fire seemed to calm him down slightly. 

Dream could relate. Staring into the flame could be almost therapeutic sometimes. 

Then it hit him. 

“Oh my— uugh,” Dream groaned. He face palmed, fingers pressed against his mask. 

“...What happened?” 

Dream sighed, hands already deep inside his pack. 

“I somehow forgot to check on your wounds tonight. The last time I did was when you were unconscious.” 

Dream found his first aid kit, the one he’d made from various trips to small villages a month back. He grinned. It was always hard to find stuff in his pack, sometimes it felt bottomless. He grabbed the bandages, turning back to Tubbo. 

His grin faltered. 

Tubbo... Tubbo looked terrified, hands clutching at the dirt beneath him and eyes blown wide. He was inching away slightly, feet skidding on the dirt. 

Dream froze. 

“Hey,” he said, “What’s— Did I do something?” 

Tubbo blinked. That familiar confused expression flashed across his face, and Dream winced. 

“I just—,” Tubbo said, voice small, “Please. Don’t. I can... I can do it myself— Just, please.” 

Dream didn’t hesitate. He handed Tubbo the bandages and the first aid kit, hands shaking slightly. The kid flinched before grabbing them from him quick as lightning, holding them against his chest like they would shield him. 

Dream hated this. He knew it wasn’t a good idea having Tubbo change the bandages himself, but he... he could understand why he wouldn’t want anyone else doing it. 

Dream found that it was becoming a pattern, him relating to Tubbo. Understanding him. 

“Th— Thanks,” Tubbo said, already shakily taking off his shirt. 

Dream tried to ignore Tubbo as he prodded at his chest, the bandages peeling at the edges. He couldn’t help himself, though, when Tubbo started whimpering softly. 

Dream watched as Tubbo slowly unwound the bandages, face twisted in a grimace. He seemed strangely composed even as he bit back a whimper of pain, and Dream had to force himself not to go help. 

He watched as the bandages fell away, revealing the deceptively small arrow wound. It didn’t look like much, but he knew from earlier that it was deep, deeper than what was safe. 

Tubbo glanced up at him and Dream looked away, trying to act casual. 

“Are... Do you need help? What about the wound on your shoulder? Does it look infected?” 

Tubbo took a minute to respond. 

“I’m fine.” 

Dream took the hint. He turned his back on the kid, trying to ignore every bit back cry of pain. Trying to ignore the way Tubbo had seemed terrified of the thought of him getting closer to him. Of helping him. 

Dream shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t. 

This was a random kid. They’d just had their longest conversation. All he knew about him was his name and that his favorite animal was a bee. 

But...

But Dream didn’t have friends. He never really had any, even before everything. Before—

(—screaming, pinned against a wall, this is your fault, pain, terror, anger, resignation—) 

Dream shook himself off, glancing back at Tubbo. The kid had already finished cleaning his wounds and was gently winding bandages around his shoulder. 

“Wow, you’re fast,” Dream said without thinking. Tubbo’s hands stuttered. 

“Um, yeah,” Tubbo said, “I’ve had practice.” 

Goodness, almost everything Tubbo said made something foreign twinge in his gut. Dream grimaced. 

Tubbo seemed to gather courage as he finished, slipping his shirt back on. He looked at Dream straight on, eyes fixed on his mask. 

“If,” he said, “If you really have no idea where you’re going why are you out here in the first place?” 

Dream faltered. 

“What.” 

Tubbo shrank into himself just slightly, eyes flicking to the side. 

“I just mean...,” he said, “Why don’t you just hide in a village or something? You don’t need to live out here. Just disguise yourself... Yeah.” 

Dream bit his lip, looking away. 

He’d asked himself the same question before. Every time it never failed to make him feel resentful, angry at the world. 

“I can’t,” he said, voice a low growl, “I’m a well known figure. I can’t change how I look enough for people to accept me anyway.” 

Tubbo tilted his head, frowning. He threaded his hands together, his old bloody bandages still resting on his knee. 

“What do you mean?” 

Dream didn’t like this. He didn’t like this at all. This was getting too close to home. Too close to his secrets. 

He shakily sighed, staring at his lap. 

“I dunno,” he said, “Where are you from?” 

Tubbo flinched, before rolling his eyes. It was the most natural movement he’d made, and Dream found himself smiling slightly.

“Touché.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow they actually got past their awkwardness and talked to each other, what??


	6. Chapter 6

Tubbo ran along the edge of the ravine, wind whipping against his face. He squinted against it, pushing himself harder. He laughed giddily, the sound barely reaching his ears before it was swept away by the roaring wind. 

Even though his wounds still stung horribly, Tubbo hadn’t been able to stop himself from bursting off into a run as soon as they’d cleared the forest. 

It was just... Tubbo had been in that forest for so long. He hadn’t been in it for the entirety of his stay in this world, of course, but it was the place he retreated to. The place that he’d constructed a makeshift lifestyle around. 

He hadn’t realized how constricted he’d felt surrounded by trees until they’d thinned, revealing a field not unlike the one he’d woken up in. 

The only difference was the gigantic ravine splitting through it like a crack in the worlds’ surface. 

Tubbo glanced down as he ran, grinning at the sight of a waterfall cascading down the stone. It was so beautiful, the way the light of day reflected off of the water. The distant rushing of water filled his ears and he whooped, arms outstretched. 

His shoulder twinged, and he grimaced, faltering. It stung, and he pushed a hand against it, hissing. 

Yeah... He really shouldn’t be running right now. 

It’s just... Tubbo stared at his surroundings, the wild animals eyeing him warily, the distant trees swaying in the breeze. 

For a moment he could forget everything and just enjoy nature, like he used to. 

Then Dream jogged into view, and Tubbo’s spirits plummeted. 

It... It wasn’t that he disliked this Dream. It was just... he didn’t know how to feel. Just the thought of Dream being nice made him wary, but here... here it seemed to just be natural. 

Dream seemed genuinely kind. Or at least concerned for him. 

And that... that was worrying. The last time Tubbo had given Dream the benefit of the doubt was right before the man had blown his country halfway to smithereens. 

But he couldn’t stop the way he smiled softly at how Dream hovered further away from the edge than necessary. 

“Tubbo,” Dream said, arms crossed, “You’re wounded.” 

Tubbo nodded. He grinned slightly, leaning closer to the ravine. 

“Yup.” 

Dream groaned, hand running down his mask. 

And that was another thing. Despite how inhuman his mask made him seem, this Dream was so much more expressive. Human, at least in movement. Unlike his Dream, whose face was visible, but stony. Cold. 

It was enough to make Tubbo almost forget who he was with. Almost. 

“Seriously,” Dream said, voice almost whining, “You were so close to the edge, you almost gave me a heart attack.” 

Tubbo stared at the ground. He glanced up at Dream, suddenly feeling like a kid caught sneaking out at night. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, “......scaredy-cat.” 

Dream squawked, offended. Tubbo pushed back his nerves, the voice that told him Dream would kill him for that, would hurt him, and giggled. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

“Hey, kid.” 

“Yeah?” 

“....How old are you?” 

“Um, I’m not a kid.” 

“Wait, what?” 

“I’m.... somewhere around sixteen. Dunno.” 

“What???” 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Dream didn’t like the field. 

He knew Tubbo did. Ever since they’d first arrived a few days ago he’d been much more lively. Running around every which way. Laughing more. 

He looked like an actual teenager here. Relaxed. 

(—And that was another thing, how was Tubbo around sixteen, he looked so tiny, so unhealthy, he didn’t even know his own age—) 

Dream shook himself off, eyeing his surroundings warily. 

This field, the one Tubbo loved running through during the day even though he really shouldn’t, was way too open. Everyone knew that monsters loved flat plains, where they could pinpoint you from a mile away. 

Dream watched as a spider skittered past, far enough away that he might not have to fight it. Maybe. 

He glanced at Tubbo, who was already half asleep. He’d wanted to help keep watch, but his running around during the day messed with his wounds enough that after dark he was out like a light. Dream hated how he pushed himself, as though he couldn’t allow himself to rest. 

He understood though, as much as he hated it. 

Dream tightened his grip on his sword as a zombie turned towards their little campsite, holding his breath. He fell back into old habits, old patterns, as he readied himself. 

He glanced back at Tubbo, whose face was twisted even in sleep. 

Dream was willing, ready, to protect someone other than himself for once. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

“So.... are you a.... hybrid? Or... something else?” 

“Wh— What?” 

“I’ve seen your horns.” 

“....Oh. Um.” 

“It’s fine, never mind. Sorry.” 

“No, it’s alright. I— I got them from a side effect of... being around something magical.” 

“.......Oh, okay.” 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Tubbo missed the field. He’d noticed the way Dream’s shoulders had relaxed as soon as they were surrounded by trees again, even if they were sparse. He seemed more at ease, at home, hidden away. 

Tubbo couldn’t help but look behind him every once in a while, as though he’d see the open space following him. He’d felt... more free there. 

Dream was walking next to him now, instead of in front. There was space, and Tubbo could keep up with him a bit easier now that his wound was almost healed. 

He rubbed at his shoulder absentmindedly, eyes flicking from tree to tree. 

“We shouldn’t be making fires anymore.” 

Dream’s voice came out of nowhere and Tubbo jumped. 

He glanced at Dream, taking in the way the man’s mask couldn’t hide his unruly hair. It stuck up even more than usual. He must’ve had a rough night. 

Tubbo felt a pang of guilt at the thought. 

“Why?” He asked. 

“I’m being chased, don’t you remember? Even if there’s no one after me right now,” Dream shrugged, “You can’t be too safe.” 

Tubbo nodded absentmindedly. 

He’d almost forgotten that this Dream was in trouble, with how casually they’d been walking the past few days. It didn’t feel real, that someone as regal and high up as Dream would be an outlaw. 

“Why aren’t there people after you right now?” 

Dream faltered for a moment, before turning his mask to face Tubbo. Tubbo shivered, staring at the carved smile. 

“I killed them.” 

Tubbo stopped walking. 

Fear. 

That fear he’d been pushing down, the fear that said this Dream was just like his, that this Dream would stab him in the back, reared it’s head. He stumbled backwards just a step, heart pounding in his ears. 

Dream just stared at him, mask hiding any reaction. 

“Wh— Why?” 

Dream tilted his head like an owl, hand casually resting on his sword hilt. 

“They were going to kill me first,” he said, voice matter of fact, “I don’t like doing it, but it’s necessary to survive, y’know?” 

Tubbo froze. 

(—it’s necessary for a better country, I don’t like doing this but if you test my patience, no mercy, no mercy for you—) 

Tubbo swallowed, crossing his arms over his chest. He breathed shakily, never taking his eyes off of Dream. 

He was fine. It was okay. 

He’d grown up in war, surrounded by people who’d had to kill in self defense. Everyone had killed. Even Tubbo wasn’t exempt from that. 

He’d grown up around people who didn’t bat an eye at death, who talked about killing someone over their dinner. Whose eyes seemed dull, lifeless.

He wondered what Dream’s eyes looked like right now. 

Tubbo pushed back his fear just like he always did, trying to see it in another way. Trying to ignore the parallels that threatened to make him break out in a run. To escape. 

Dream still stared at him. 

“We...,” Tubbo said, voice faint, “We should keep walking.” 

Dream merely nodded, and Tubbo had never hated the mask more than in that moment. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Dream pulled his makeshift bow out of his pack, studiously ignoring Tubbo. He grabbed a quiver of arrows, throwing it over his shoulder. His hands shook minutely as he secured it, eyes fixed on anywhere but his companion. 

“I’m going hunting.” 

He faintly heard Tubbo call out in acknowledgment, but at that point he was already walking away. 

Dream’s thoughts were so loud in his ears that he knew he wouldn’t be killing anything tonight. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate. 

He pulled an arrow out of his quiver anyway. 

Killing. 

Tubbo had seemed so horrified for a split second, so scared of him. 

He’d thought... He’d thought maybe Tubbo would understand. He didn’t know what his backstory was, where he came from, but the hints he did have... they spoke of survival. Of having to do unspeakable things in order to survive. 

It’d been a test. 

A test to see if... if Tubbo would still stick by him even if he knew about his past. Even that one sentence had only been a snippet of his secrets. He’d hoped...

They’d been getting less awkward, more talkative. The air around them had finally felt... a bit more normal. Now, though...

Now Dream wondered if he’d ruined it. 

Dream hid among the trees, hunting for food. But his mind was elsewhere. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Dream returned a few hours later with nothing but his bow and arrows and a racing mind. 

He glanced around the campsite, frowning. 

Tubbo was nowhere in sight. 

His bow slipped from his fingers, hitting the leaves softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, my hand slipped and now the actual plot has started.


	7. Chapter 7

Tubbo needed air. 

He’d been sitting at the campsite for what felt like hours. It gave him nothing to do, and far too much time too think. 

He felt... Honestly he felt kind of guilty for acting the way he had. He was pretty sure he’d upset Dream by the way he’d reacted, and for good reason. 

He wasn’t an expert on reading body language. But the way Dream had stalked off into the forest to ‘hunt’ had felt... like a retreat. A way to escape being near Tubbo. 

Tubbo needed to retreat himself. 

After sitting on the forest floor for at least an hour, Tubbo felt stiff. He stretched, ignoring small twinges of lingering pain from his wounds, before turning towards a random direction in the woods. 

Dream would probably kill him if he found out that he’d taken a walk alone, but Tubbo... Tubbo didn’t care. 

He had his sword. He wasn’t useless. He wasn’t a kid. 

And he really needed to clear his head. 

Tubbo walked over fallen leaves, hypnotized by the way they crunched under his boots. And that was another thing. 

Dream seemed to have limitless supplies. He had this pack that felt bottomless, full of things Tubbo wouldn’t have ever dreamed of an outlaw having. 

Like a whole spare outfit, for example. 

Tubbo fiddled with his shirt as he walked. It was a pretty shade of green, a bit lighter than what this Dream normally wore. It blended in with the vegetation nicely. That was probably why Dream had it in the first place. 

It reminded Tubbo of one of his favorite shirts from home. Or... from when he was in L’Manberg. 

Tubbo whistled softly, the melody from long ago. He walked further from the campsite, spirits already lifting. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

“What’s the point of even going to a village if we had the compass the entire time?” George whined, elbowing Sapnap as they stalked through the underbrush. 

Sapnap sighed through gritted teeth. 

“The compass is faulty sometimes, okay? It’s been a week, let it go.”

George rolled his eyes. 

“More likely that you just forgot it was in your bag,” he drawled, “Given how stupid you are.” 

From beside them Bad sighed, sounding remarkably like a disappointed parent. George glanced at him, watching as the knight pushed his tinted glasses further up his nose. The guy never took them off, even after dark. 

Sapnap grinned, pushing George slightly. 

“What?” 

“We’re close. Like, really close.” 

George tensed, hands flying for his weapons. Bad stood straighter, armor clanking slightly. 

“Okay, then— then shut up already and lead the way,” George said, trying to hide the fear in his voice. 

He hated respawning. Dream’s mask would haunt him for the rest of his life. 

The nerves he’d been trying to hide the entire trip doubled, even as he crouched, walking through the foliage. He heard Bad do the same, if a bit clunky, and prayed that Dream couldn’t hear. 

He’d known they were pretty close for a while, after the villager had given them a general direction. Dream’s mask was distinct enough that he wasn’t hard to track if he visited villages. And apparently he’d needed first aid supplies a while back. Plus, Dream had been strangely reckless, leaving the remains of fires everywhere. 

George didn’t allow himself to dwell on it. 

Distantly he thought he heard someone whistling. Chills and adrenaline trickled down his spine, and he drew his sword, wishing it wasn’t so heavily enchanted. It shimmered a purple blue among the greens of the forest. 

At his side Sapnap slipped daggers from his sleeves, poised to throw them at the first opportunity. 

Bad had drawn his sword too, though he seemed even more tense than George, face twisted into a grimace. 

George peeked past a tree, breath caught in his throat. 

There, in the distance, was Dream’s campsite. It was laid out just like last time, if a bit... wider? George stared at the bags and bedroll. It felt so homey, so comfy, that you wouldn’t be able to guess that it was a dangerous outlaws by looking at it. 

But George knew better. 

Bad tapped his shoulder. He forced himself not to jump, gritting his teeth. 

“.....What?” He mouthed, tense. 

Bad shrugged, armor clinking. George had to resist strangling the man. Seriously, did he not realize they were close to a murderer? Someone dangerous enough to warrant three people to go after him? 

“What now?” Bad hissed, eyes flicking back to the abandoned campsite. 

From his other side Sapnap rolled his eyes. 

“We—“

The whistling picked up. George had almost forgotten about it in the excitement, and he tensed even further. He scanned the area, breath loud in his ears. 

His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword as the whistling grew closer, and he breathed slowly, evenly. 

His heart hammered, loud in his ears, and he tried to keep calm. George couldn’t help but—

A tuft of brown hair. A green shirt. 

He was ready, this time. 

George lunged, face twisted, sword outstretched. 

He swung, the movement full of blind emotion, fully expecting an impact. He met air, stumbling only for a second before he recalibrated, pushing forward. 

His sword clanged against resistance, the impact shaking his arm. He hissed through his teeth, pushing forward. 

Then he faltered. 

Wide eyes, gray and full of terror, stared up at him. A sword had blocked his swing, but it wasn’t enchanted and was slowly slipping. 

(—training, pushing forward even when he knew, he knew they couldn’t fight back, praise, tears—) 

George flinched back, eyes blown wide. 

He... This was a kid. A kid who happened to be wearing a green shirt. A kid who was shaking, holding a sword pointed in his direction. 

“Ge— Geo—“ 

George stared, struck mute, as Sapnap lunged from behind, slapping a hand over the kids’ mouth. He watched as Bad ran up next to them, frowning and thunderous. 

He watched as the kid stared at him, so many emotions in his gaze that he couldn’t pinpoint any of them. 

The kid struggled against Sapnap, twisting and thrashing, but Sapnap held firm. He hadn’t trained for years for nothing. 

Sapnap grabbed his hand, forcing him to drop his sword. 

“Listen, nothing against you,” Sapnap grunted, walking backwards, “But we can’t have you alerting Dream.” 

Sapnap dragged the kid with him, an arm wrapped around his chest. George snapped out of his thoughts enough to follow, feeling dirty. Gross. 

What... What just happened? 

George followed Sapnap, feeling almost hazy. Distant. He stared at the way the kids’ eyes glared at him. At the fear hidden there. 

He’d been so stupid, so ready for a fight, that he’d jumped a random kid. 

Why was a kid out here in the first place?

Maybe he wasn’t a kid. George watched as he struggled against Sapnap, using tactics that actually weren’t half bad. Maybe he was just short. 

Bad stomped, still quietly but definitely angrily, over to Sapnap, arms crossed. 

They’d managed to drag the kid out of eyeshot of the campsite, and George relaxed, if barely. 

“Seriously Sapnap?” Bad cried, voice a hiss, “You just kidnapped someone! And you, George! Did you even think to look at him for a second before you ran at him? You could’ve killed him!” 

George stared at the ground, sheepish. 

Sapnap just shrugged, rolling his eyes. 

“What else was I supposed to do?” He said, hand still pinned over the kids’ mouth, “When George messes up that badly someone has to clean up the mess. I’m used to it.” 

Bad groaned, throwing his arms in the air. 

George.... George could hardly breathe. 

Dream was nearby, so close that he might hear. A murderer. A murderer was close enough to find them. There was a kid, randomly walking near Dream’s campsite. They’d just kidnapped him. 

George sighed shakily, hand still gripping his sword as though he might break without it. 

“Let him go, Sapnap,” he said. 

Sapnap’s eyes widened. He glanced down at the kid, who’d stopped struggling quite as violently. 

“Seriously?” 

George glared. 

“Oh, fine,” Sapnap said, before leaning down, “Promise not to scream?” 

The kid nodded furiously. 

Sapnap let go. 

George watched as the kid scrambled away, a mess of limbs. He practically tripped as he stumbled away, arms wrapped around himself. He was breathing heavily, eyes blown wide. 

“Oh my god. I can’t do this— This is— This is c— crazy— I hate this! I hate this, oh my god.” 

He was hyperventilating, eyes darting from George to Bad to Sapnap. 

“Why is it always them?” He cried, eyes welling with tears, “Why can’t I see my friends— Please....”

He hunched forward, closing his eyes, his hands grabbing at his hair

“Please let this be a dream. Please.... Please.” 

George....

George felt something break as the kid started to cry softly, shoulders shaking. It was his fault. He should’ve paid more attention. How could he have been so... so reckless? 

Bad moved forward, just barely. 

“It’s okay,” he said, voice a whisper, “It’s okay, we’re not going to hurt you. I promise. We’re just looking for Dream.” 

The kid froze. 

For a moment everything was silent. George glanced at Sapnap, taking in his tense shoulders. His frown. He looked... guilty. George could relate. 

He’d never run into anyone other than Dream before, when hunting. 

“Hey,” George said, trying to keep his voice a whisper, “Why were you here anyway? Did Dream... Did Dream take you or something?” 

The kid looked up, tearstained face twisted. He looked angry, hateful. George almost took a step back, heart skipping a beat. 

“No,” he growled, “You did. I just— I just want a break from everything...” 

Then he inhaled—

“Dre! Dre, help!” 

Sapnap lunged forward a moment too late. George stared dumbstruck, as the kid fought back, kicking. They tumbled to the forest floor, a mess of limbs. 

George tensed, hand tightening on his sword. 

“Bad!” Sapnap grunted as he tried to pin the kid down, “Come— Help me! Don’t just... stand there!” 

Bad rushed in, sword sheathed. He barreled in like a wave, unstoppable and strong. He grabbed the kids shoulders, gently shoving him against the dirt as Sapnap stumbled to his feet, wiping blood from his jaw. 

“Stupid— Kids and their—,” he muttered, knives materializing in his hands. 

Once again George felt useless, frozen as Bad pinned the kid down and Sapnap stood over him, intimidating. 

The kid thrashed, yelling curses. He screamed wordlessly, the anguish in his voice enough to make George wince. 

“Shut him up!” Sapnap growled. 

George shook himself off, moving to help Bad. He fumbled with his sword, hesitant, before he froze. 

A sword pressed against his throat, drawing just the faintest amount of blood. George flinched as a hand gripped his shoulder like a vice. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so hard to write, wow. I rewrote it twice. 
> 
> Also, poor Tubbo. He keeps getting referred to as ‘the kid’ by everyone. I mean, that’s what happens when you’re short and malnourished from war.


	8. Chapter 8

Dream stared at the empty campsite, frozen. 

He shouldn’t have been so surprised. He shouldn’t be feeling almost... betrayed. 

Considering their last conversation... it made sense. Tubbo wasn’t obligated to stay. He didn’t have to hang out with someone like him. 

That didn’t stop Dream from biting his lip, his eyes strangely starting to burn. 

He... He had a right to be mad, right? He could... He could stand up for himself if someone just up and left without saying goodbye. 

Dream growled under his breath, suddenly frustrated. 

This was all his fault. If he’d just... If he’d just kept his secrets, if he’d just played nice, maybe he’d....

Maybe he’d what? 

Have a traveling companion? Why did that matter? 

(It did matter, it mattered so much. He finally wasn’t lonely, wasn’t alone—) 

Dream stared at Tubbo’s pack. It was right where he’d last seen it, leaning against his. 

Wait. 

What? 

Dream stared, tense. Why would Tubbo leave his bag if he was running away? If he was truly scared of Dream? 

Panic flooded him and he scrambled to unsheathe his sword. 

The forest suddenly felt far too large. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Tubbo growled as he bucked, trying to throw Bad off of him. He could feel something sticky trickling from his shoulder, but he ignored it, desperately trying to break free. 

The last time he’d seen Bad he’d been in Manburg, neutral. Not a friend, never a friend. But neutral. 

And now here he was, whispering nothings while he ground Tubbo into the dirt. 

Tubbo screamed, half out of pain and half out of the sheer rage he felt at... at everything. 

Couldn’t he just catch a break? He was so... so sick of everything! He just wanted to run off, to be alone in the forest all over again. Even that had been better than this. 

This fever dream of familiar faces. 

Distantly he heard the metallic sound of knives, and he redoubled his efforts, mouth full of dirt as he screamed. 

“Shut him up!”

Tubbo screamed again, refusing to let them capture him. To take him to Dream. 

No— Wait. Not Dream. They were enemies here. 

Tubbo still couldn’t truly understand. It just didn’t compute, the thought of Dream’s best friends being the hunters. 

How in the world were they the hunters? The people chasing Dream down, the people he’d killed in self defense? 

Weren’t they his friends? His allies, that would go to war for him in a heartbeat? 

Did that mean his own friends, if they even existed here, could be his enemies? Did he already exist here, living alone without Tommy? Without Niki? Fundy? 

He sobbed, trying to buck off the knee pressed against his spine, trying to get free. He needed space. Air. 

Bad was whispering something to him, but he didn’t care. 

He just... he wanted a familiar face. Someone to tell him everything would be alright. 

No— He wanted to be alone. Right?

All he knew was that he wanted to be free. He scraped at the ground, desperate, tears making it hard to see. 

Then the pressure left, and he scrambled up blindly, swinging wildly. He met air, and he stumbled, frantically wiping dirt from his face. He blinked, trying to orient himself. 

The scene in front of him felt like a nightmare. Something made from the deepest parts of his imagination. 

Dream was pinning George against his chest, hand digging into his shoulder and sword pinned under his chin. George looked wild, eyes wide and mouth parted. Dream was as unreadable as always, mask pristine. 

Bad had backed off, arms lifted in the air. His face was as unreadable as Dream’s, not even glancing at Tubbo. 

Sapnap was the only one still holding a weapon, knives glinting in the low forest light. He was eyeing Dream cautiously, less like prey and more like a predator waiting to strike. 

Tubbo wanted to go home. 

Where was home?

He tried to focus on breathing, and not the way his nails were chipping and bleeding.

This couldn’t be happening. He was just so— so sick of it! Of everything. He was tired of dancing around everything, of being weak. 

Tubbo drew himself up to his full height, face twisted. 

“Well, George,” Dream purred, and Tubbo shivered, “Fancy meeting you here.” 

George whimpered even as he glared at the sword, a small trickle of blood dripping down his neck. 

Tubbo— Tubbo felt sick. 

That voice. 

That tone, that voice, was what taunted him in his nightmares. It was the remnant of his Dream that he remembered the most. The way he taunted his prey before he struck, an unstoppable force. 

Sapnap shifted, and Dream’s mask swiveled to his direction like an owl. 

“And you, Sapnap!” Dream said, voice thick with fake cheer, “I see you’ve brought a newcomer. Nice to meet you....?” 

Bad shifted, grimacing. 

Dream shrugged, sword shifting against George’s skin. 

“Oh well, it doesn’t matter,” he said, “What does matter. Heh. What does matter is you’ve been playing around with a... friend of mine. Not a friend like you, Gooogy...!”

He shifted the sword on George’s neck almost playfully. 

“...Someone I’d rather didn’t die.” 

Bad lowered his arms slightly, and Dream laser focused on him. He raised them again, slow and deliberate. 

“We’ll leave him alone,” Bad said, voice surprisingly steady despite everything, “Just please, let George go.” 

Dream tilted his head, a move Tubbo had seen tons of times in the past week. It’d never struck such a strong sense of fear in him before. 

Fear. 

Tubbo— Tubbo was done. He growled, frustration bubbling under his skin. 

He wanted out of here. He wanted... He didn’t know what he wanted other than a chance to get away. He watched as Dream tightened his hold on George, sword cutting even further into his neck. 

George whimpered, eyes flickering to Sapnap, to Bad, and then back again. 

Dream was laughing, sword shaking just a bit. 

“As if!” he said, “If I let George go you’d all just try and kill me! Just like every. Other. Time.” 

Tubbo didn’t hesitate. 

He lunged for Sapnap, all desperation and impulsiveness. Sapnap jumped, trying to defend himself, but Tubbo grabbed at his wrists, wrenching them backwards. 

His knives hit the dirt with an almost silent thud. 

Tubbo screamed, raw and so, so, tired, as he punched at anything he could reach. Sapnap slunk backwards, but he grabbed his leg, pulled harshly. 

There was a thud. A scream. 

And then Tubbo was the one on top of him, breathing harshly and eyes wild. 

He could distantly hear the sound of yelling, of swords clashing, but he focused on Sapnap. On the way he writhed under him. 

Tubbo grinned. 

This might not be the Sapnap he knew, (—fire, fire, angry and wild laughter—) but it felt so good. So good, seeing the way he stared up at him, startled and confused. 

Good. Maybe for once Tubbo wouldn’t be the confused one. 

A hand tapped his shoulder and he lurched, reacting. He shifted his weight and Sapnap writhed again, before breaking free. He scrambled away, anger twisting his features. 

Tubbo ignored him, looking up. 

Dream was staring at him, bloody sword poised. 

“C’mon,” he said, panting, “C’mon lets go, we need to go, Tubbo.”

Tubbo nodded, disoriented. 

He had no idea what was going on. All he knew was confusion, terror, and the wonderful feeling of adrenaline as he fought. 

He scrambled up, ignoring Sapnap, who was searching for his knives, and nodded. 

He glanced behind Dream, catching a glimpse of George leaning against Bad, blood dripping from his arm, before Dream grabbed his arm and they ran. 

They ran, ignoring Sapnap’s roar of anger from behind them. Ignoring the campsite they’d left behind. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Tubbo ran. 

He ran, and ran, and ran, with Dream at his side. His wounds burned with every movement but he didn’t care. 

He just wanted to get away. To get away from Sapnap, and George, and Bad and all of those unfamiliar familiar faces. 

Everything felt so... wrong. So fundamentally flawed. George shouldn’t be getting hurt by Dream. Dream shouldn’t be calling him a friend. 

He shouldn’t be here, alone, without a friend in sight. Without Tommy, without Niki. Fundy. 

Tubbo glanced to the side. 

But he wasn’t alone. And that, in and of itself, felt wrong. Dream shouldn’t be... shouldn’t be a comfort. Shouldn’t be someone who called him a friend, and who cared. Someone who pulled him away from danger. 

Tubbo skidded to a stop, mind racing. He heard Dream do the same, though more gracefully. 

“Tubbo? You okay?” 

Tubbo breathed evenly, steadily. He looked up, hands shaking. 

“You’re Dream. Not Dre.” 

Dream flinched, hand flying to his sword. Tubbo tensed, wounds aching. He grimaced, prepped for a fight. Just in case. 

Instead, Dream relaxed slightly, hand dropping away from the sword hilt. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. The hunters called me that in front of you, huh?” 

Tubbo nodded. There. That was one secret he could air out. That he could explain away knowing. 

“Does that mean.... I can understand if you want to leave now. I’m too dangerous to be around. I can’t— you should leave.” 

Tubbo froze. 

No. 

No, not a chance. He couldn’t— He couldn’t leave. Not after that. Not after everything. 

Tubbo could feel pressure building behind his eyes and he blinked, grimacing. 

Dream jumped, before he leaned forward, arms hesitantly outstretched. Tubbo flinched away. He aborted the motion, awkwardly bringing his arms back to his sides. 

Tubbo growled under his breath. 

“I don’t know what you being Dream means,” he said, “if that’s what you’re so worried about. And I don’t care.” 

Tubbo hated that mask. He wished Dream didn’t wear it, wished he could see what he was thinking. Feeling. 

“I just...,” Tubbo said, “I’m tired. I want to see my friends. I miss my friends and I’ll never see them again no matter how hard I try and—“ 

His breath hitched and he buried his face in his hands. He shook slightly, shoulder and chest burning. 

“I’m.... I’m sorry Tubbo.” 

Tubbo blinked. He looked up, ignoring the tears that were starting to trickle down his cheeks. 

“What?” 

Dream shifted, clearly uncomfortable. 

“I’m sorry for being cryptic and I’m sorry for being a bad traveling companion,” he said, voice rushed, “And I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess.” 

Tubbo stared, eyes burning. He blinked rapidly. 

“It’s not... It’s not your fault.” 

Dream sighed shakily. Tubbo couldn’t see his face, but he was pretty sure he didn’t believe him. 

Tubbo was so tired. Even though he’d been in this world for months today had been a slap in the face. A way of reminding him just how different everything was. 

Here, Tubbo was alone. 

His breath hitched at the thought, tears spilling down his cheeks. He wished he could just disappear, and stop thinking. 

But then Dream’s arms were around him and his head was pressed against his chest, and he couldn’t see anything except Dream’s shirt and his shoulders. 

Tubbo should’ve been afraid. That voice in the back of his head should have screamed at him. Yelled that this. Was. Dream. 

Instead he shuddered, leaning into the touch. It was easy to forget what had just happened here, where he could feel Dream breathing. It was almost hypnotic, and Tubbo relaxed, feeling safe for one of the first times in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter absolutely murdered me. I honestly kinda hate it but my sister said it’s good so here you are. Consume.


	9. Chapter 9

“I can’t believe you! That poor kid—“

“That poor kid? Did you see how he tackled me? He’s feral!” 

“Oh— Don’t you— Ugh! Aren’t you curious about why there’s a kid with Dream? Huh?” 

George listened as Sapnap and Bad argued, feeling like a kid being left out of important conversations because ‘he wouldn’t understand’. It was uncomfortable, but he wasn’t in the mood to join in. 

He groaned, leaning against the tree, compass sitting on his lap. He watched the needle sway slightly in a singular direction, numb. 

“Why would I care?” Sapnap said from the other side of their campsite, “I’m in it for the job. The. Money. If there’s a kid in the way I’ll get him out of the way.” 

Bad made some sort of short gasping noise before he stood. He wasn’t wearing his armor, he’d taken it off to clean it after the fight. Now he was just wearing his dark hood and his sleek underclothes. 

He didn’t exactly look intimidating, but he still radiated anger. George flinched, hand methodically pressing against the gash in his arm. 

Dream hadn’t hesitated. He was lucky it was only his arm, and not his neck. 

“How can you not care?” Bad screeched, “This is a kid we’re talking about! What if he’s related to Dream somehow? No matter what, he has to be an innocent roped into this. You can’t just ‘get rid of him’!” 

George glanced at Sapnap. He hadn’t known Bad that long, but he did know his friend. Sapnap looked uncomfortable, wary. He had that look in his eyes that he got when he was trying to push everything away in favor of survival. 

George hated seeing him like that. 

“He can’t be related to Dream,” Sapnap said, voice steady, “You know that. Besides, willingly hanging out with someone that renowned? That sought after? He knows what he’s getting into.” 

Bad deflated just the tiniest bit. 

“You don’t know that.” 

George bit his lip. He didn’t have have enough facts. Enough evidence, to support a theory. 

What he did have were memories of Dream killing him, over and over again as he desperately tried to catch him. He had the sight of Dream covered with his blood burned into his memory. 

He had the memory of the first time meeting him, before everything was chaos and blood and angry taunts. 

George didn’t know why the kid was with Dream. He just hoped, whoever he was, that he was safe. 

And that he knew what he was getting into. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

“Just tell me what’s going on!” 

“No, I— I can’t! You won’t need to know anyway once I drop you off.” 

Tubbo growled, hissing as Dream gently poured water over his shoulder. His wound burned, and he grit his teeth, refusing to cry out. 

Despite their arguing, Dream was gentle, carefully pinning him down so that he didn’t aggravate the wound more. 

“Listen,” Dream said, voice hard, “This is my fault. I can’t afford to drag you with me anyway. You won’t have the time you need to heal, and you’ll die.” 

Tubbo scowled. 

After everything, after what they’d just gone through. After the hug that he... still didn’t know how to feel about, he wasn’t going to let Dream abandon him. 

He wasn’t going to be alone again. 

“I’m used to stuff like this!” He cried, grabbing at Dream’s wrist as he pulled away, “I won’t die! I’ll be careful, and I’ll be quiet, just please....”

Dream sighed harshly. He pulled away, gentle even as he forced himself away from Tubbo’s grip. 

“You’re not supposed to be used to this! You’re a teenager! When I was a teen my most pressing issue was getting my dad to like me. Not... Not this.” 

Tubbo looked away, bitter tears burning in his eyes. 

“Well I’m not you.” 

“I know!” Dream said, and Tubbo flinched, “...I know.” 

Tubbo clenched his hands into fists, ignoring how his wounds burned. He was just so— so frustrated, so tired, and he just...

He remembered how it felt, hugging this Dream, and he felt... warm. He wanted that. It was the first time he’d felt companionship in this world and he wasn’t going to let it slip out of his fingers without a fight. 

“If you leave me in a village I’ll just end up dying anyway,” Tubbo said, watching as Dream flinched, “Ge— The hunters know what I look like, they could just find me while I’m stuck in a village and use me to get to you. Besides...” 

Tubbo reached a hand up to his horns, small and mostly hidden but still visible. 

“I’ll be alone again. It’s much easier to die that way.” 

Dream faltered. Even with the mask still on he looked conflicted, arms crossed and body language defensive. Then he sagged, sighing. 

“Fine. Fi— Fine.” 

Tubbo grinned, relief hitting him like a wave. He reached forward, hardly able to move from the pain in his chest. The stone against his back was cold, and he shivered slightly. 

Dream hesitated for a split second before grabbing his hand, fingers interlocking. Tubbo sighed, relaxing. He squeezed Dream’s hand, marveling at how soft it was, despite everything. 

This felt so familiar. The pain, the feeling of being alone with only one person at your side.

The tentative nature of your relationship, wondering when they’ll leave you. If they’ll leave you. 

“Tommy used to do this with me before,” Tubbo said, without thinking. He didn’t know if he was talking to Dream or to the wall of the cave. 

Dream was silent for a moment. 

“...Tommy?” 

Tubbo grinned softly, chest aching from more than just his wound. 

“Yep,” he said, “He was— He was my best friend.” 

He shuddered, memories threatening to take over. 

“I dunno why I’m telling you this. I guess I’m just tired and lonely and relieved and in pain and my filter has turned off cuz of that. Sorry. I should be quiet.” 

Dream shook his head. 

“Keep talking,” he murmured, “It’ll help with the pain. Take your mind off of things.” 

Tubbo sighed, the motion pulling at his shoulder. He winced. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had when it was covered in dirt, but it still stung. 

“Tommy hated showing affection,” Tubbo said, voice distant, “So whenever I got hurt he’d only offer his hand. Said it was cuz he was too cool to hug me. I didn’t mind, even if... sometimes...”

Tubbo forced himself to breathe steadily. 

“Dream?” 

Dream looked down at him, crude smily face like something out of a campfire story in the low light. 

“Yeah?” 

“Where are we going?” 

Dream stiffened, hand tightening around Tubbo’s. Tubbo watched as he seemed to hesitate for a moment before he sighed shakily. 

“I guess I at least owe you that much if you’re coming with me, huh?” 

Tubbo nodded. 

There was a long moment of silence. Tubbo watched as Dream seemed to gather his courage, trying to be patient. He could wait. Besides, he—

“The Nether.” 

Tubbo froze. 

“....What?” 

Dream looked away, tugging his hand out of Tubbo’s grip. His shoulders were hunched, tense. 

“I didn’t want to,” he said, voice quiet, “But then this happened and... I need to. If you’re going to come with me... you need to know.” 

Tubbo....

Tubbo had been to the Nether, back in his world. He could remember the endless heat of lava, and the way it was hard to see past the haze. 

He shivered, reminded of endless red and monstrous pigs. 

“Why the Nether, specifically?”

Dream looked down, faltering. Tubbo watched as he clasped his hands together, shaking slightly. 

Tubbo frowned. Dream... Dream never showed weakness. He didn’t. Even this Dream, while strangely kind, had this aura of strength that he never let down. But now... He looked hesitant, nervous. 

Dream’s hands reached for the back of his mask, and Tubbo’s heart leapt into his throat. 

He lunged, faltering when his wounds screamed at the motion. Dream froze, hands still in the middle of undoing his mask. 

“Don’t—,” Tubbo gasped, “It’s okay, you don’t have to—“ 

Dream shook his head, silent. 

His mask slipped off, and Tubbo gaped. 

Dream’s eyes were all he could see. 

They glowed faintly in the darkness, flickering like torchlight. Tubbo stared at the brilliant mix of orange and red, bright and burning. The skin around his eyes cracked in a spiderweb of soot black and dripping red, cascading down his cheeks like lava. 

Dream held his mask in his hands as though it was a lifeline. 

“I need to go to the Nether... because I’m from there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t mentioned it yet, but the response to this fic is absolutely incredible. I went to a party last night and checked after four hours and there were so many kind comments. Thank you all so much! 
> 
> Also:
> 
> Tubbo: Hey Dream can I please know where we’re going?
> 
> Dream: *channeling his secret love for dramatics* Time to unlock a portion of my tragic backstory.


	10. Chapter 10

Tubbo stared. 

Those eyes, Dream’s eyes, were almost hypnotic. He could swear that they were alive, that they held actual flames deep within the oranges and reds. 

(—it was so uncanny that he could almost feel the heat of a firework against his skin, had to ignore the feeling of fire burning him, exploding him—) 

There was a long silence as all he could do was stare. Dream shifted, blinking rapidly, enough to snap Tubbo out of his haze. 

All he could think was—

“Your eyes are so cool,” he breathed, feeling like a giddy kid, “They’re so pretty.” 

Dream blanked for a moment, face twisted in confusion before he grinned, fanged teeth flashing. He sighed, sounding like he was shrugging off a burden. 

“I don’t know why I was even worried,” he said, though it sounded more like he was talking to himself then to Tubbo. 

Tubbo tried to get ahold of himself, tried to rein himself in. It was pretty hard when every time Dream blinked it was like someone had snuffed out a torch before he opened them again, bright and warm. 

Then the full weight of what Dream said hit him and Tubbo froze. 

“...People can come from the Nether?” He murmured to himself. 

“Wait, you don’t know?” 

Tubbo jumped. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Now Dream would know— He’d know that he wasn’t from around here. He’d know that he didn’t— didn’t belong, that he was a freak of nature. An accidental placement, living on time he shouldn’t even have. 

Tubbo bit his lip. 

“I’m— I was sheltered as a kid,” he said, refusing to let his voice shake, “I didn’t know that— that it was even possible.” 

Dream just stared at him for a moment, face twisted in confusion. 

“But I thought...,” he said, words slow and deliberate, “That the horns... um.” 

Tubbo blinked. 

Oh. 

“I... I told you they were from magic?”

Dream looked away, hunched inward. He looked almost ashamed. 

“I thought you were lying,” he said, “I mean, you have to admit that we’ve both been... purposely misleading... so I guess...” 

Tubbo didn’t know what to say. 

He’d never liked his horns. He could remember when they’d first started to come in, the way Schlatt had looked at him. The way he’d paraded him around Manburg. 

(—a grin, ‘looks like you haven’t been careful enough around me’, a hand digging into his shoulder—) 

He’d never told Tommy about them. Sometimes he’d wonder... he’d wonder how his friend would’ve reacted. 

He could still remember the time Tommy had looked at him, face twisted. Had sneered at the way he was dressed, his suit pristine. 

(—You’ve been spending too much time around Schlatt—) 

Tubbo had brought a hand to his horns and had silently agreed. 

And now... He’d never thought someone could look at them and think that they were something... good? Or at least find kinship with him for it. 

It felt strange. 

Dream was still sitting awkwardly as Tubbo thought, the silence between them stretching. 

For some reason the revelation that people could be from the Nether in this world felt nowhere near as shocking as everything else. Tubbo was still getting over the fact that an alternate version of Dream existed. He could brush off something like this much easier. 

But there were still so many things Tubbo should ask. What did he mean by ‘he’s from the Nether’? Why was he hiding behind a mask if the mask was just as noticeable anyway? 

Instead....

“Would you like to talk about it?” 

Dream jumped slightly, eyes widening. Tubbo watched as he bit his lip, brows furrowing. It was strange, being able to read his face. Just as strange as the orange and red itself. 

“You need to know why I’m going to the Nether if you’re going to come with me, right?” 

Tubbo nodded. He massaged a hand around his shoulder absentmindedly, careful not to touch the wound. 

“I guess.” 

Dream sighed. He glanced down at his mask. 

“I’ve never actually been to the colony in the Nether,” he said, “I actually grew up here. I’m... I’m half ‘n half, my mom’s the one from the Nether. I was thinking... We could find the colony and live there, away from everything.” 

Tubbo frowned. 

Living in the Nether?

“Why there though?” 

Dream shrugged. He still wouldn’t look up from his mask. 

“Overworlders are scared of the Nether,” he said, “And especially of the Nether people. If we live with them we won’t have to worry about being chased down. We could make a home there.”

A home. 

Dream finally looked up. 

“Though, I mean, you don’t have to— I mean, you don’t have to follow me, now that you know this. If you’re not actually like me then living in the Nether might not be... I don’t....” 

Tubbo shook his head. He bit his lip, trying not to cry. The burning behind his eyes made it hard to see in the low light, and he stared up at Dream. 

He still didn’t know how to feel about being around Dream of all people, but... But at this point it was extremely clear that the two different Dream’s were, well, different. Even his face looked so much... nicer, hidden behind crackling heat and reds and oranges. 

Even if the image of Dream holding a sword to George’s neck felt eerily familiar. 

But the thought of having a home. That... That was something he didn’t have to think twice about. 

Manburg hadn’t been a home. Pogtopia hadn’t been his home. Even L’Manburg, when it’d still been standing tall, hadn’t been as close to his heart as it was to his friends. 

His home had always been the people. Tommy’s wide grin, Wilbur’s soft singing, Fundy’s tail puffing up when he got angry. 

Tubbo smiled up at Dream, blinking back tears. 

“I’d like that, actually. I’d like to... to have a home.” 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Tubbo wasn’t even allowed in the village. 

When he’d agreed to come with Dream he hadn’t exactly expected so much... caution. Mothering. Sure, he’d helped patch him up with what little they could find, and he wouldn’t let him out of his sight when he was healing, but that didn’t equate to being paranoid. 

Though he probably should’ve seen the red flags when Dream wouldn’t even let him run a while back, back before he’d reopened his wounds. 

Seriously, they should’ve healed a while back, if it weren’t for... Bad. 

They were probably going to scar. 

Tubbo sighed as he watched the villagers scurry about. He was perched on a cliff side overlooking the entire village, feet dangling off the edge. The breeze was amazing, blowing through his thin shirt easily, and he was tempted to let his guard down as just close his eyes. 

He didn’t, though. If he could see the villagers they might be able to see him. They didn’t have a reason to suspect that he was traveling with a thief, but that didn’t mean he didn’t tense every time one looked up. 

He hadn’t wanted to have to resort to thievery. Surprisingly, neither had Dream. But... they’d left their packs behind in the rush to escape. Their packs that held what little money Dream had, and all of their medical supplies. He was lucky Dream knew how to safely clean out wounds, or he might have died from infection. 

Tubbo whistled softly, quietly, under his breath. He was restless, legs swinging under him like he was a little kid. 

If Dream had ordered Tommy to stay, he would’ve immediately run off to the village to ‘help’. But Tubbo wasn’t Tommy. Instead he rebelled in tiny ways, like walking to the edge of the cliff despite his wounds making it hard to do more than walk at a steady pace. 

Being with Dream now felt different. 

Back when he was around Tommy a bunch, he’d called him clingy. Tubbo preferred loyal. 

Once you’d earned his trust, his respect, he’d stick by you forever. Eret had shaken that, had tested how much he was willing to trust, and Wilbur had cracked at the foundation. But... But he didn’t want to stop trusting. Trying. 

The only thing holding him back was how despite everything, this was still Dream. Still the man who could threaten to kill with a frighteningly cheerful voice. 

And the deep line between them, made from their secrets. 

Sometimes, especially recently, Tubbo just wanted to confess. To tell Dream, to get it all off of his chest. But... But the thought of Dream thinking he was crazy, of him ditching him, made him bite his lip and turn away every time. 

He wasn’t—

“Hey, we need to go.” 

Tubbo yelped, jumping to his feet. He stumbled, hand flying to his chest as pain shot through him. Dream grabbed his forearm, pulling him away from the edge. 

Tubbo grinned up at him sheepishly, staring into the mask’s carved eyes. 

“....Okay.”

Dream shrugged, handing him a bag. It was heavy with whatever Dream must’ve thought important. Tubbo grabbed it, glad to finally be of use. 

Distant yelling made him tense, eyes widening. 

“Like I said, we need to go.” 

“...But— But I can’t run—“

Tubbo couldn’t stop himself from screaming as Dream picked him up, his legs suddenly in the air. He flailed as Dream readjusted, carrying him bridal style. Then he froze, eyes wide. 

Dream was carrying him. Dream was carrying him gently, an arm wrapped around his chest where he wasn’t wounded and another supporting his legs. 

Dream took off, running as smoothly as he could, and Tubbo laughed, throwing an arm around his shoulders. 

He laid his chin on Dream’s shoulder, heart absurdly light as he watched the screaming villagers disappear in the distance. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Bad sighed, turning away from his fellow ‘hunters’. He slipped his glasses off, carefully wiping the grime off with a gentle sleeve. 

He turned his gaze to the sky, red-orange eyes blinking rapidly with no need for extra light. 

He needed to find Dream, and quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I reference Tommy so much he might as well be in the character tags. 
> 
> Also I wasn’t actually going to update today but apparently I’ve been blessed by some higher being, because I just couldn’t stop writing no matter hard I tried to focus on my incoming harp lesson. So... I hope you liked it! <3


	11. Chapter 11

Bad missed the Nether. 

The feeling of heat against his skin, the way he could look on any side and see endless lava. His family...

The peace. The quiet. 

The feeling of having people close by, people he could trust. People he didn’t have to hide from. 

Bad bit his lip, refusing to cry. It was late at night, and the hunters were close by. They would definitely hear. Stars shone from above, illuminating their campsite just barely. 

That was one thing he loved about the Overworld. The stars. The cycle of the sun and moon. At first he’d been terrified, dizzy. How could they just... trust? Trust that gravity wouldn’t reverse and they’d all die? 

At first he’d much preferred the safe ceiling of the Nether. 

Then he saw the stars. The way they could be strung into pictures, the way he could just... relax, staring at them until he fell asleep. 

Bad couldn’t take off his glasses now, though, to see them clearly. His tinted glasses made the stars a distant glint instead of a brilliant pinprick of light. 

He’d already risked taking them off before, he wouldn’t do it again. 

Bad glanced at Sapnap, who was wide awake. It was technically his turn to be the look out, but Bad hadn’t been able to sleep. He hadn’t been able to ever since he saw Dream. 

George was passed out already, sleeping his wounds away. Bad hoped he’d feel better soon. 

He stared at the stars, tracing a constellation with his eyes. 

“Hey, Sapnap?”

Sapnap jumped slightly, hissing. He turned to face Bad, sword only barely glinting in the low light. 

“Don’t do that to me,” he whispered back, “...What is it?” 

Bad frowned. He bit his lip, eyes wandering to the stars. 

“Do you ever miss your home?” 

He glanced at Sapnap, watching as he shuffled from his lookout position. He looked... almost uncomfortable. 

“Never,” Sapnap said, voice firm even as he whispered. 

Bad flinched. He shouldn’t... He shouldn’t have said anything. But he couldn’t stop himself from thinking. From needed to just... do anything to get his mind off of things. 

“Why?” 

Sapnap sighed softly, and Bad thought he could make out the way he rolled his eyes. 

“I lived with the lowest of the low, okay? The poorest,” he said, “And I escaped. With George, of course. Do you know how hard that is? Of course I don’t want to go back.” 

Bad knew when to stop. He turned on his side, back facing Sapnap. He really should try to sleep, even if it was hard. He shouldn’t pry. 

“....Sorry,” he murmured, “G’night.” 

“.......Goodnight.”

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Dream didn’t miss the Nether. 

How could he? He’d never been there. He’d never seen his people, the people like him. 

All he’d known about his people for the longest time was that they were terrifying, evil abominations. And that made him half of all of that. Only halfway evil. 

Only halfway an abomination. 

Dream glanced at Tubbo, asleep and curled up in the grass. He was breathing softly, the rise and fall of his chest hypnotic. 

His horns. 

Dream still wasn’t... He was still kind of embarrassed that he’d assumed. He’d never met anyone with animalistic traits before, and so he’d just... He’d thought maybe Tubbo was like him. Half and half, and that he’d just gotten traits that Dream hadn’t. 

He did know one thing for certain, though. 

If Tubbo had lived where he had, he’d have been treated just as horribly for having those horns. Maybe worse, since it was... honestly, stranger than even Dream.

Dream sighed, hand resting against his mask. He tapped a rhythm against it absentmindedly, deep in thought. 

Tubbo’s horns still looked like they were smaller than what they could be. Did that mean they’d get larger as time went on? Would he have to wear a hat or something to hide it, like Dream had his mask? 

No. 

If they managed to make it to the Nether, they’d understand. They had to. Tubbo wouldn’t have to grow up hiding who he was. 

Dream groaned. 

He was way too attached to him already. 

They’d known each other less than a month and he was already getting sappy. What happened to the loner Dream? The one who hadn’t talked to someone in months when it wasn’t fake bloodlust? 

Fake bloodlust. 

Dream hadn’t forgotten the split second Tubbo had frozen, fear flashing across his face as Dream monologued. As Dream held a sword to George’s throat. 

In the Nether he wouldn’t need that mask. That charade of confidence. 

(Except it wasn’t all a charade, was it? Sometimes he couldn’t hold back a laugh when he managed to kill George, blood dripping down his sword. Sometimes he couldn’t stop himself from taunting Sapnap, grinning as he stabbed his foot to stop him from running—) 

Dream’s hand tightened on his sword hilt, face twisting into a grimace. 

Nope. He wasn’t going to think about that right now. He needed to be keeping a look out for monsters, needed to protect Tubbo. 

Dream tore his eyes away from Tubbo, gaze wandering their surroundings. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Tubbo missed his friends. 

He liked this Dream, impossibly, but... But he was one person, one person that was awkward and didn’t really talk that much. 

He missed Tommy’s nonstop monologues, he missed Fundy’s red stone explanations, missed Quackity’s hilarious nonstop jokes. 

Tubbo walked beside Dream, silent and thoughtful. 

Dream wasn’t physically affectionate either. 

Not that Tommy had been, but... Tubbo had been comfortable enough with him to force him into hugs or into ruffles of his hair. He’d been comfortable enough to tell him when he just felt... starved. Lonely, even when Tommy was right there next to him all day. 

Tubbo glanced up at Dream, unable to see his expression behind his mask. 

Dream was still wearing his mask, despite everything. When they ate he’d actually take it off fully, instead of just dragging it up slightly like before, but that was it. He still had that barrier up, between them. 

Tubbo understood. He had a barrier too, just mentally. 

Tubbo ran a few steps to keep up with Dream, wounds barely burning. They were finally healing, finally not hindering their progress quite as much. Dream was still being careful, still going a bit slower than Tubbo knew he could, but they were actually making progress now. 

“Hey, Dream?” 

Dream looked down for a moment, sun reflecting off of his mask just slightly. 

“Yes?” 

“How are we planning on making a portal?”

Dream paused, slowing in his walk. Tubbo followed suit, trying to stay side by side with him. 

“Well,” Dream said, voice muffled by his mask, “There’s two ways. One, we find a lava pool in a field. Or two, we find a cave with lava and work with that. I guess there’s a third option of trying to find an abandoned portal, but that’s not very likely at all.” 

Tubbo blinked. 

“You’ve really thought about this.” 

Dream just nodded. 

Tubbo knew how to make portals from his time in his world, but doing so while on the run with a crunch for time? Definitely not in his comfort zone. He doubted Dream was comfortable either. 

“...Fields are dangerous because we’d be out in the open,” Dream continued, “But caves have even more monsters. The hunters might lose us in the caves, but if they don’t it’d be harder to defend ourselves from surprise attacks.” 

Tubbo watched as Dream thought, nearly tripping over a random stone. He righted himself, focusing on where he was going rather than on the way Dream tapped his mask. 

“....Um, where would you rather go?” 

Tubbo blinked. He hadn’t expected Dream to ask him. He was just along for the ride. 

“I think a field would be easier,” he said, “Y’know, since we’re in the right terrain for it. Plus, we wouldn’t have to find good supplies to mine in the caves.” 

Dream nodded slowly. 

“Field it is then.” 

They lapsed into silence, Tubbo trotting along next to Dream. He stared at his feet, at the way he had to occasionally jog a step to keep up. 

The loneliness he’d been ignoring during their conversation reared it’s head again, and he frowned. 

It wasn’t rational. Just because he hadn’t hugged someone in... who knows how long, didn’t mean he should be feeling this alone. Dream was right there next to him, mask and all. 

But he could remember how it felt to lean against Tommy on the bench, arm thrown around his shoulders. Could remember the last hug he’d had, when Tommy had told him to be safe. 

Could remember how he’d held Quackity’s hand once, swinging it wildly as they sang nonsense together. 

He remembered all of that, and stared at Dream’s hand. At the way it was swaying at his side, open and inviting. 

Tubbo glanced at his own hand, suddenly nervous. 

Should he....? 

No. Tubbo shook himself, forcing the thought away. 

They weren’t there yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, this is YOUR daily dose of fan fiction. 
> 
> On today’s chapter, the author finally realizes that behind the bits of plot, this fic is actually just a huge character study!
> 
> And, if you look in the comments for last chapter, toothbrush (one of my regular commenters) posted fan art! Please, please, please, check it out! It’s so good.


	12. Chapter 12

Tubbo danced to the side, panting as he swung, sword meeting air. 

He growled under his breath, wiping hair out of his eyes with his free hand. The movement took up valuable time, and he yelped as he jumped backwards, out of the way of an arrow. How skeletons managed to nock arrows so quickly, he had no idea. 

There was the sound of another arrow being nocked and Tubbo didn’t hesitate, lunging. 

His sword pierced between ribs, meeting air, and the wonderful hiss of enchantments breaking met his ears as he groaned, sword sliding back into it’s sheath. 

He painted quietly, adrenaline slowly fading. 

From his position in the campsite Dream clapped lazily, masked face never turning to face Tubbo. He was fiddling with some of their food, loaves of bread stolen from a village. Tubbo watched as he wrapped each loaf carefully, stuffing them into their largest bag. 

They’d just set up camp after raiding another village, and darkness was setting in. It was Tubbo’s job to guard, now that his wounds didn’t bother him anymore. Not much, anyway. 

(If he sometimes had to hide a wince from Dream in order to get to do something... well. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.) 

Tubbo stretched, eyes still scanning their surroundings. Spiders could come out of nowhere, blending in with the night. Only their eyes were obvious, but they were creepy enough that Tubbo had had nightmares about them for weeks when he was younger. 

The sword at his hip was a bit too big, too heavy, but he couldn’t be picky. The sword he used to have, the one that was makeshift and flimsy, had been left behind after their skirmish with the hunters. After he’d lost track of it in the fight.

If he was being honest, Tubbo was on edge. They hadn’t run into the hunters at all after running off. He knew George had been wounded, probably enough to slow them down but... 

It still didn’t stop him from having a hard time sleeping, one eye open at all times. 

Tubbo shook himself off, hand tightening on the hilt of his sheathed sword. He scanned their surroundings one more time before trotting back to the campsite, sitting beside Dream. 

Dream gestured mutely and Tubbo unbuckled the sword and sheath from his waist, handing it over. 

Even though he was allowed to guard the campsite sometimes, Dream still kept the sword most of the time. Tubbo knew it was for the best, the sword fit him better, and he had more experience, but... He hated how helpless he was, without a weapon. 

“Hey, Dream...” 

Dream paused. 

“Yes?” 

Tubbo shifted, staring at their bags, at the bedrolls, anywhere but at Dream. He... Ever since he’d realized just how... how attached he’d become he couldn’t help but feel awkward. 

He didn’t want to mess their tentative relationship up, didn’t want to be abandoned. 

He knew it was irrational. Stupid. But there was that voice in his head that told him if he spoke out of turn... if he asked for too much, that he’d get thrown away. 

He didn’t know when that voice appeared. Maybe it was with Schlatt, it was definitely at it’s loudest then. Maybe it was with Wilbur, or maybe it was even further back. Either way, he tried to ignore it. 

“Um, next time we see a village can we get a sword? Or just a weapon, really any weapon is fine.” 

Tubbo watched as Dream finished securing the sword around his waist, the shimmering of faint enchantment visible even through the sheath. 

“Of course. Sorry, I should’ve thought about getting you something sooner.” 

Tubbo blinked. 

He’d forgotten, for a moment. Just how strangely nice this Dream was. 

For a moment he allowed himself to wonder how his Dream would’ve answered. He probably would’ve asked him why he even needed one. Maybe ignored him entirely, if he didn’t run him through with his own sword first. 

Tubbo shook himself off, trying to focus on something else. 

He watched as Dream stood, jumping to his feet with practiced ease. Dream adjusted his mask before he drew his sword, throwing it over his shoulder lazily. 

“It’s your turn to rest,” he said, stretching slightly. 

Tubbo nodded slowly, trying to remind himself that he was safe, it was okay, he could relax. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that they should keep moving, keep running. 

The hunters had to be close by. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

George whistled as he skipped through the trees, refreshed. 

Sapnap rolled his eyes even as he studied the compass in his hands, hardly paying attention to where he was walking. He’d already almost tripped over air a few times, which George knew he wasn’t going to let him live down. 

Sapnap glanced up at him, frowning. 

“Just because you’ve been sleeping every few hours and ruining any chance we have of catching up to Dream doesn’t mean you get to frolic in the woods like a pretty princess.” 

Bad swatted at Sapnap’s arm playfully. 

“He’s been injured,” he said, “He gets a pass.” 

George grinned, sticking his tongue out like the mature adult he was. His arm was finally healing, but the process made him extremely sleepy. It wasn’t his fault, that was just how his body reacted. 

“Besides, Sappynap,” George said, “It’s your fault we lost him in the first place.” 

Sapnap growled, looking up from the compass just to glare at him. 

“That’s not true!” He said, “If you hadn’t been an idiot and attacked that kid then we would’ve been able to launch a surprise attack!” 

“Well, you were the one that got overpowered by a scrawny kid!” 

“He surprised me! Plus, he had to have had training, the way he made me drop my knives was a measured attack!” 

“Well— Well, you’re a brat!” 

“....Seriously?!” 

George heard Bad sigh, and he watched as he facepalmed, hand dragging over his face. He looked extremely unamused. 

“Actually,” Bad said, “The reason we’re so behind is because of stupid fights like these.” 

George chuckled sheepishly, purposely turning away from Sapnap, eyes scanning the trees. 

In their search for Dream they’d traveled through what felt like too many forests to count. In reality it was the same forest, they’d just weaved in and out of it in search of the random villages scattered outside of the king’s rule. 

Or maybe there was another forest. He wasn’t too good with navigation when he didn’t have a compass. 

The part of the forest they were in now was thinning, trees slowly falling away to taller grass and more mobs. They were entering a field. Again. 

George admired the way the moonlight shimmered among the trees, barely lighting up their path. Bad’s torch kept the monster’s at bay, but he could still hear scuttling and wailing deeper within the forest, where it was the darkest. 

He didn’t let Sapnap lower his mood, and he wouldn’t let something as trivial as a distant zombie keep him from skipping jovially. George hummed to himself, almost giddy at the thought of being able to use his arm again. 

George was snapped out his thoughts as Bad shuffled, slowing. He adjusted his pace to stay in the middle of the torchlight, unwilling to get left in the dark. 

Bad looked thoughtful, his hand tightening around the torch. 

“...I wonder how Antfrost’s doing?” Bad mused, voice hesitant. 

Sapnap snorted scornfully. 

“Pshh, rich boy is fine,” Sapnap scoffed, “He’s getting three course meals while we work our—“ 

“What he means,” George said, taking pride in the way Sapnap glared, “Is that he’ll be fine without you. You don’t need to be his guard twenty-four seven, y’know. You wanted this mission anyway.” 

Bad nodded slowly, face lit from below by the light of the torch. He didn’t look any happier, and George...

George ignored the twinge of jealously deep in his gut. He didn’t have anyone to care about back in the kingdom. His only friend was here, at his side, and his family... 

George bit his lip, mood plummeting. 

“I guess I’m just getting all sentimental,” Bad said, “This is the longest I’ve gone without seeing him in a while.” 

Sapnap smirked, patting him on the back gently. 

“That’s cause you’re way too dedicated to your job. Even though we never talked, I still saw you guarding him sometimes. You looked pretty boring, just standing there.” 

Bad’s eyes were hidden by his glasses, but George was pretty sure he’d rolled them hard enough to get a headache. 

“It’s called not being a ragamuffin.” 

Sapnap blinked, face twisting into bewildered confusion for a split second. 

“....I don’t really think that’s what that word means, but suuure.” 

George snorted, trying to shake himself off. He turned away from Bad, staring at his feet, watching them drag over the forest floor. 

“Why’re you suddenly so... sentimental?” He asked, voice quiet. 

He didn’t look up to see how Bad reacted, too busy counting each step he took. He watched his boots crush leaves, the sound almost satisfying. 

“Well,” Bad said, “We’re going to the Nether soon, and you know how dangerous that place is.” 

George froze, almost tripping over his own feet. He could hear Sapnap doing the same, and he whirled, facing Bad. 

“....What do you mean we’re going to the Nether?” 

Bad tilted his head innocently, the picture of confusion. 

“I thought it was obvious,” he said, “Dream’s been headed for a field for a while now. Why else would he risk it?” 

George groaned. Of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, hey, I’m back! 
> 
> Sorry for disappearing for a few days, I wanted to continue my daily streak but... some stuff has been happening recently and I got caught up in it and y’know how it goes. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like the chapter, even if it’s just filler right now.


	13. Chapter 13

The ambience of the village shouldn’t have been as relaxing as it was. The murmuring of villagers as they walked past, the animals snorting from their pens, even the sound of doors being opened and closed made Tubbo feel... strange. 

Ever since he’d first arrived here he hadn’t really been in civilization, around other people. Sure, he’d had to resort to stealing from a few villages before he could live off of the land, but that hadn’t been the same. 

That was him sneaking around after dark, guilt and fear clogging any ability to appreciate being around people. 

Now, though...

Tubbo allowed himself a smile as he walked next to Dream, gaze wandering. 

The village was right next to the field they’d decided to search for a lava pit, small and cozy. The villagers all eyed Dream, but the enchanted sword at his side and his masked face kept them from doing anything more than glance at him warily. 

Tubbo loved villages. The way it was small enough that everyone knew each other, the way it had small farms littered everywhere. 

(And if it reminded him of when they’d first started L’Manberg, when it’d been some friends and a dream and hard work, well....) 

Tubbo could tell Dream didn’t feel the same way. He was tense, visibly so even with his mask on. 

He was recognizable. He couldn’t really do anything about it, or at least that’s what he’d told Tubbo. Both his mask and his face were well known. So he’d resorted to wearing the mask as a fear tactic. 

And it definitely worked. 

The villagers nearby would avert their gaze if they saw him glancing their way. Some even dragged their kids into their houses, harsh whispers just barely reaching Tubbo’s ears. 

But the majority of them pretended they didn’t exist, shoulders hunched and conversation stilted. 

Tubbo could feel his good mood wilting as he watched the villagers, so he focused on Dream instead. 

Before, when they were getting ready to go to the village, Tubbo hadn’t thought to ask what they were doing. He’d just followed along, listened to Dream as he’d told him the rules. The way to survive their trip. 

Now though... He only hesitated a second before speaking. 

“...What are we here to get, exactly?” He asked, voice hushed. 

Dream jumped ever so slightly, and Tubbo grimaced, guilty. He’d known he was wound up, he shouldn’t have said something so suddenly. 

Dream didn’t look at him as he answered. 

“A bucket or two, and some weapons. Food.” 

Tubbo nodded slowly. 

He watched as Dream approached the blacksmith, pulling him to the side and talking with him in hushed tones. Tubbo hung back, staying out of the way like they’d planned. He took the opportunity to survey the field beyond the village. 

The field stretched outwards in all directions, and Tubbo could see wild animals roaming even from his vantage point in the village. He thought he could see a lone tree in the distance, standing tall. 

He loved fields, loved the way the wild would rustle the grass, but he knew that it wasn’t safe. Wasn’t preferable, when someone was chasing them down even as he stood here uselessly while Dream bargained for weapons. 

Tubbo sighed, fiddling with his shirt as he waited. His hair had been purposely ruffled in order to hide his horns, and he didn’t allow himself to touch it, no matter how fidgety he got. 

He didn’t really want to know why Dream was so nervous when he hid Tubbo’s horns, whispering that he should never let anyone see them. 

Tubbo blinked and Dream was at his side, shoving a sword and sheath into his arms. It was unexpected, and Tubbo almost dropped it before he steadied himself. 

It was a diamond sword, and the faint shimmer of enchantment made Tubbo’s jaw drop. He gaped even as he started to secure it around his waist. 

“How’d you afford something like this?” Tubbo asked without thinking, mouth on autopilot. 

He winced immediately, eyes downcast. You don’t just ask someone something like that. 

Dream tilted his head, almost as if he was confused. 

“It’s... not that expensive?” He said, “I just used some of the money we stole.” 

Tubbo stared, hesitation forgotten. 

“We didn’t steal nearly enough for a fully enchanted sword. A fully enchanted diamond sword.” 

Dream shrugged. 

Shrugged. As if it didn’t matter that he’d just pressured the blacksmith into giving him a fully enchanted diamond sword for the price of... an iron one, probably. 

“You realize your mask, and your reputation just got us this sword,” Tubbo said, “Right?” 

Dream brought a hand to his mask, dragging a finger down it absentmindedly. 

“...Oh.” 

Tubbo, who at this point didn’t have the mental capacity to be careful with his words around Dream, sighed. 

He patted the familiar weight at his hip, relishing in how safe he felt with it on. 

“I wonder what would’ve happened if we went with my idea,” Tubbo mused, tapping his sheath. 

“What?” 

Tubbo grinned. 

“Y’know that hooded shirt you have?” 

Dream hesitated, before nodding. 

“Well,” Tubbo said, “We could’ve put it on you backwards and pulled the hood up over your face. And then I could’ve dragged you around, pretending you were blind.” 

For a moment Dream just stared. Silent. 

Judging. 

Tubbo couldn’t hold back a snort, imagining the expression behind his mask. 

He hadn’t been comfortable enough to joke around for a while, and something in him loosened at the way Dream pretended he hadn’t heard him, turning back to the dirt path through the village. It was reminiscent of the way Tommy would stare at him blankly before calling him crazy and then just... continuing with whatever he was doing. 

Tubbo trotted to Dream’s side, heart light even as they headed to a stand to buy supplies. Supplies that they would use to go to the Nether. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Dream watched as Tubbo crouched in the grass, green shirt blending into the waves of green that would ripple with every gust of wind. His hair blew in the wind too, and he could just make out his horns in the midst of it all. 

Dream had taken off his mask. 

Maybe it was a way of reassuring Tubbo that he cared. Maybe it was just... to breathe. To finally be free of the mask. Either way, his mask was deep in one of their bags, and his face was out in the open. 

There wasn’t anyone else around to see it anyway. 

Dream sat next to Tubbo in the grass, watching as Tubbo stared at the way the grass moved, as though it were alive. Moving of it’s own accord. 

“...It’s so pretty.” 

Dream secretly agreed. 

“It’s pretty dangerous, too,” he said instead, chin resting on his hand. 

Tubbo rolled his eyes, and Dream smirked. 

Tubbo had been... louder, recently. He looked more alive, boisterous and not as afraid to talk to him. There were still moments where he’d freeze, almost terrified, before he continued their conversation, as though afraid of what Dream might say. Might do. 

But he was getting better, and so was Dream. 

He... He felt a bit less awkward, a bit less tense, every time he talked to Tubbo. It was easier to fall into the flow of a conversation. Easier to remember he wasn’t alone. 

Dream could get used to that. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Tubbo panted as he ran, shoulder to shoulder with Dream. He pushed himself forward, ignoring how his legs burned. Ignoring how his chest ached with every breath. 

Beside him Dream ran gracefully, at home as he bounded over rocks and grass. Tubbo was almost jealous, but he didn’t really have the time to care. 

Tubbo glanced behind him, catching a glimpse of someone far in the distance before he forced himself to look away, heart leaping to his throat. 

His pack bounced against his back and his sheath hit his leg in an almost hypnotic rhythm, and Tubbo found himself counting in his head to the beat. He lost himself to the burning of his muscles, forced himself to keep going. 

Then Dream skidded to a stop beside him, and Tubbo almost tripped over himself to do the same. 

He almost collapsed, muscles like jelly, but Dream caught his arm, pulling him up. He’d dropped his buckets of water, their lids sealed, in order to catch him. 

“C’mon, c’mon,” Dream growled, glancing behind him, “We don’t have time. I just saw a lava pool. I’m faster, guard me.” 

Tubbo barely had time to register the words before Dream hefted the water buckets up and took off. He watched as he approached a lava pool a few feet away that Tubbo hadn’t even noticed, dumping water. Hissing met his ears, and Tubbo held back a cough as magic started to permeate the air. 

Then Tubbo realized what he’d told him to do. 

A while back Dream had sprung to his feet, eyes wide. He’d lunged for their bag, throwing his mask on and hissing at Tubbo to grab their stuff. 

He’d heard the hunters in the distance. 

Tubbo drew his sword, the familiar weight in his hands doing nothing to calm his racing heart. He shrugged his back further up onto his shoulders. He knew it would hinder him, but he kept it on, just in case they’d have to make a speedy escape. 

They’d known they were close to a lava pool. They’d known, and had foolishly decided to sit and relax for just a bit. Just long enough to talk for a bit before they left for the Nether. 

Tubbo bit his lip as he shuffled a bit closer to the lava pool. 

He scanned his surroundings, tense. The field was open, large, and he couldn’t see anyone anywhere. That didn’t mean they weren’t nearby, though. 

They were hunters. That... That probably meant they knew what they were doing. 

Tubbo breathed slowly, evenly. 

This was so familiar. The way he knew he’d be outnumbered. The way he protected the only people he knew, the only people he cared about, despite the way holding a blade had never been something he’d enjoyed. 

He’d never enjoyed holding a blade until it started to mean safety. 

Tubbo could remember a time, a while ago, when he would’ve fought against having to use a sword. When he would’ve tried to use stealth or potions or anything but the feeling of that heavy metal in his hands. 

But—

There was a rustle to his left and he spun, sword raised defensively. Something hit it with a clang and he stared up into George’s goggles, the eyes behind them wide. 

Tubbo grinned harshly as he watched Bad fall into formation behind George, his sword raised.

“Why hello.” 

George smiled back at him, though his was smaller, more restrained. 

“Sorry, kid,” he said, “I don’t want to kill you.” 

Tubbo didn’t continue the conversation. He lunged, sword swiping through the air. George leapt back, and he missed his target. Tubbo rerouted, bringing the momentum up towards George’s face. 

Bad’s sword appeared between them, blocking him with a clang. His face was as impassive as stone, but he didn’t move offensively. Instead he blocked George from Tubbo, sword outstretched. 

George frowned. 

Tubbo watched as he moved to fall beside Bad, pinning Tubbo on both sides. 

“What’s a kid like you doing out here?” George taunted, “Especially with Dream?” 

Tubbo grit his teeth and refused to answer, as much as being called a kid was getting to him. That was Tommy’s thing, not being a child. He didn’t mind it that much, but the way George said it was grating. 

Bad was silent, but he loomed beside George, slowly pinning Tubbo in. 

George’s sword skimmed the air a bit too close for comfort and Tubbo lunged like cornered prey, sword swinging. George merely leaned out of the way, but Tubbo kicked out at the same time, and he grunted as Tubbo’s foot hit his knee. 

Tubbo could barely react before Bad was there, sword pinned beneath his throat. He gulped, but then the sword was gone as soon as it’d come, and he stumbled backwards, confused. 

George cursed under his breath, sword shaking as he hopped slightly. 

“Jeez,” he groaned, “I’m just trying to help! I’m not Sapnap, I’m not gonna try to kill you yet.” 

The yet wasn’t very reassuring. 

Tubbo knew he wasn’t going to win this. They weren’t even trying yet, he knew that. They were just talking to him, playing around. Well, George was talking. 

Bad was being strange. Quiet. Or maybe this version of Bad was just a quieter person, he didn’t know. Tubbo rubbed at his neck with his free hand. He’d let him go. 

Despite Bad being weird, it was still two on one, and Tubbo wasn’t exactly known for his combat skills. He tightened his grip on his sword, breathing deeply. 

Then he froze. Wait. 

Two. 

Tubbo whirled, panicked. Dream was still building the portal, and he was almost done. Tubbo watched as he poured the last bit of water and the husk of a portal was formed, ugly and magnificent. 

“Wait—“ 

Tubbo didn’t get to finish his sentence before a sword slipped under his chin. He growled, but didn’t struggle. He was too busy watching Dream struggle to light the portal. 

Too busy watching Sapnap creep up on him from behind. 

Dream glanced up at him and Tubbo couldn’t see his reaction from behind the mask, but he could watch as he tensed, drawing his sword. The portal stood forgotten as he started to stalk towards them. 

Dream had noticed how George was holding him, sword to his throat in a mockery of what had happened during their last encounter. 

Tubbo could only watch as he came to his rescue. Could only watch as Sapnap stalked him from behind. 

Then Sapnap slipped something from his belt and Tubbo couldn’t stop himself. 

“No—!” 

Dream tensed, turning just in time to see Sapnap throw something at him before disappearing into the grass. 

The sword at Tubbo’s neck pressed harder against his skin at the same time Dream failed to dodge, glass shattering at his feet. 

Tubbo bit back a scream as Dream collapsed, mask thudding against the dirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to take a break and publish this chapter tomorrow but I just... couldn’t... stop... I wrote this all in one go. 
> 
> Also apparently pacing doesn’t exist in my writing. That’s cool. That’s cool.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That moment when you write daily so much that you burn yourself out and then post a chapter with a huge cliffhanger and then leave for days.

In the past, Tubbo had always struggled with fight or flight. 

When arrows rained from the sky he’d freeze, one side of him desperately trying to nock his own, while another screamed at him to run. When tnt exploded below he’d run, but there was always a voice hissing at him to turn around, to fire a shot. To swing a sword in response. 

Tubbo didn’t like his fight response, didn’t like bloodshed. 

Usually he was relieved when he gave in to flight in the heat of the moment. He got to live another day with Tommy by his side. 

Now, though, there was only one option. 

Fight. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

It only took a second. 

A second of George hesitating as he watched Dream fall, a second of his sword tightening before loosening just a bit. 

A second for Tubbo to grit his teeth and throw his head back, twisting to the side. 

George’s sword left a cut across his neck as he moved, but Tubbo didn’t stop to assess how deep it was before he turned, sword swinging. He watched as George tried to dodge. Watched as his sword dug into the arm he’d thrown up in self defense. 

Tubbo ignored George’s scream as he bolted, only one goal on his mind. 

The husk of the portal was emanating contained magic. Enchantment. All it needed was fuel, flame, before it’d be a gateway to something other. Somewhere different. Tubbo forced himself to look away from it. To look at Dream’s prone form and at Sapnap, who was standing a few feet away, grinning lazily. 

Sapnap looked up only as Tubbo was already running, face twisting through so many emotions at once that Tubbo could only make out a few. Panic, when he registered George’s scream, relief when he saw him still standing, and finally annoyance as he readied his blade. 

Sapnap stood over Dream, and Tubbo knew there was no way to avoid a fight. No way to get to Dream without going through the hunters. 

But he also knew that if he engaged, he’d die. 

As soon as he was only a few feet away Tubbo swerved, skidding to a stop in front of the portal. He grabbed Dream’s flint and steel from the dirt, hands shaking. 

Tubbo ignored his racing heart, focusing on the chance of escape in his hands. 

A knife flew by his face, and he jumped, glancing up. Sapnap was focused on him, knives flicked into his hands. He looked... almost indifferent. Merely annoyed, as if he wasn’t trying to kill Tubbo. 

Everything felt like too much for him to handle. Too much for him to fight off alone. 

George was approaching, bleeding and face thunderous. Bad was behind him, and Tubbo could just barely make out his frown. Sapnap had another knife in his hand, poised to throw. 

Tubbo ignored them all, hiding behind the husk of the portal, trying to start a fire. His hands shook as the flint and steel scraped. And scraped. Sparks flew and he glanced up. 

Tubbo threw himself behind the obsidian as another knife flew by his head. He could hear Sapnap swearing, and Tubbo shook himself off, trying to concentrate. 

He scraped the flint and steel again, and this time purple filled his vision. Magic swelled, and he clutched at his head, blinking back stars. 

“Seriously, Sapnap?” George called, and Tubbo jumped, “I’m— I’m injured over here! Go get him!” 

Tubbo threw the flint and steel onto the dirt, hands flying for his sword. He hid behind the obsidian, peaking out from behind it as he watched the hunters advance. 

He needed to get to Dream. 

He needed— He needed to drag him through the portal and run. 

Tubbo could feel despair threaten to take over as he watched the three hunters converge, closing in. He blinked back tears, heart hammering and hands shaking as he clutched at his sword. 

He bit his lip, face twisting. 

‘Channel fear into rage and rage into determination. And then let that determination guide you.’

Those words. For the longest time he’d lived by those words, every time he looked Schlatt in the eyes. Every time he had to face his enemy on the battlefield. Every time he worried about Tommy’s safety. 

And now, he’d recite it again. Live by it again. 

Tubbo slipped out from behind the portal and lowered his sword. 

He let his eyes burn. Let all of the tears he’d been suppressing rush to the surface. His breath hitched he sobbed loudly, sword trembling from how hard his shoulders shook. 

Bad was staring at him, frowning. He was hovering behind the other two hunters, eyes hidden and cloak pulled up over his head. George was clutching at his arm, blood dripping down until it hit the dirt. He looked confused, angry. 

And then there was Sapnap. Who looked like hidden rage and apathy and annoyance all at once, knife twirling around his fingers. He was battle ready, in a position Tubbo knew well, feet apart and shoulders set. 

Tubbo turned up the waterworks, channeling his frustration. 

“I’m— I’m so sorry,” he said, hiccuping, “You just... I didn’t know what to do, Dream was watching and I was so angry and frustrated and... I’m just— so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Sapnap didn’t falter, but he did stop walking forward. Tubbo watched as his hands tightened on his knives, prepared to fight. Prepared to kill him. 

It was George who broke the silence. Who glanced at his fellow hunters, brows furrowed. His hand was still pinned to his arm, and Tubbo could make out how his breath seemed ragged from pain. 

“What do you mean?” He asked, voice hesitant, “And why’re you— you even here in the first place?” 

Tubbo ignored the rhythmic beating of his heart in his ears. Ignored how sweaty his palms were as they clutched at his sword. He breathed shakily, trying to keep up appearances.

He was used to people assuming he was weak at first glance. Used to people seeing the bee loving boy, and not the war hardened teen who’d been forced into being a spy. A failed one, but a spy nonetheless. 

Tubbo let another tear fall, glancing at Dream. He was on the other side of the hunters, still collapsed. Wisps of magic trailed into the air above him, and Tubbo prayed that he was still breathing. 

“I’m... I’m homeless and I was just walking through the forest one day when...,” Tubbo allowed his breath to hitch, “When Dream captured me. He told me that as long as I did what he said I wouldn’t get hurt. I think— I think he wanted to use me as a shield against you guys. Maybe he hoped you wouldn’t kill a kid? I don’t— I don’t know!” 

He watched as George faltered, face falling. 

“I’m so sorry— I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hurt you, I was just scared.”

Tubbo breathed a tiny sigh of relief as Bad nodded slowly. He looked convinced, calmer than before. George was also loosening, watching him uncertainly. 

Sapnap didn’t move a muscle, still holding his knives. Still hard to read. 

Bad walked forward just a few steps, and Tubbo tensed. 

“Are you okay?” Bad asked, voice soft, “Did Dream hurt you?” 

Tubbo bit his lip. 

“...No,” he admitted, “But— But he threatened me. And— And I just want to go home. But I can’t, because I don’t have one and I just...”

Tubbo ignored how true his words were. How, even though he was acting, he could feel true pain behind each syllable. He focused on Bad’s face instead. On the way he seemed conflicted, sad. 

It was working. Tubbo glanced at Dream again. 

“He’s lying.” 

Tubbo’s heart leapt and he squeaked. Blood rushed in his ears and he bit his lip so hard he could swear it was bleeding. 

Sapnap was staring at him, expression unreadable. 

“The way he fought me last time we saw him was not the fighting of a scared kid,” he said, tone harsh. Even and steady and enough to make Tubbo flinch. 

Bad turned away from Tubbo, crossing his arms. His sheathed sword bounced against his hip, and Tubbo absently wondered when he’d sheathed it. 

“You guys were threatening him!” Bad said, incredulous, “He was fighting for his life, what did you expect for him to do? Roll over and die?” 

Sapnap rolled his eyes. Tubbo watched with bated breath, gaze still flicking to Dream. 

“You’re not innocent here, Bad!” Sapnap said, “You helped hold down the kid, and don’t forget it. Stop demonizing me just because I do my job.” 

“Um, he just practically cut my arm off or are you two going to ignore that?” George interjected. 

“Oh shut up, Gogy,” Sapnap snapped, though there was something playful hidden in his tone, “You’re fine. You’re still standing.” 

Tubbo watched as George teased Sapnap about hiding his true mothering from him, watched as Bad groaned. He felt oddly left out. 

It was perfect. 

Tubbo slowly inched towards Dream, heart hammering in his ears. Every small step he took made him hold his breath, glancing at the hunters carefully. He moved fluidly, trying not to make any sudden movements. 

“Anyway, what do you want me to do, huh?” Sapnap growled, “Should I just— Hey. What’re you doing?” 

Tubbo froze. He stared into Sapnap’s eyes, terror threatening to clog his throat. 

No. He’d get through this. He’d done this tons of times before, in front of Schlatt. It didn’t matter that the man had found out anyway. Tubbo wasn’t going to stick around long enough for them to think things through. 

“I’m just...,” he murmured, looking down, “I’m just checking on Dream. He may have threatened me, but he didn’t hurt me. And I— He might be dead. I can’t—“ 

He blinked back tears. 

“I really don’t want to see death again.” 

He glanced up beneath half closed eyelids, vision hazy with tears. George looked taken aback, frozen. Bad still looked the same. Sad and caring and conflicted. 

Sapnap was faltering, finally. The knives in his hands slipped just a bit, and Tubbo was acutely aware of the way he shifted. 

“...Fine. It doesn’t matter if he’s dead though, right? We get the money either way.” 

Tubbo watched as George shuffled on his feet, hand still clasped over his bleeding arm. 

“I mean,” he said, “Yeah. But, um, we shouldn’t really be talking about that in front of...” 

Tubbo let them talk, let them squabble. He turned his attention back to Dream, trying not to seem too rushed as he walked to his side, collapsing against the dirt. 

His knees dug into the ground as he checked Dream’s pulse, his own blood loud in his ears. He reminded himself to breathe, and it became much easier when he felt a pulse, albeit a weak one. 

Dream didn’t look like he was unconscious. His eyes were open, lidded and dazed, but they moved to watch Tubbo as he sat down. Tubbo watched as he convulsed every few seconds, face twisting in silent pain. 

Tubbo groaned lowly under his breath. It was a generic potion made to hurt. To kill. If someone was healthy it wouldn’t kill them, but it was still dangerous. He wondered if Sapnap knew it wasn’t always fatal. 

Though, he wondered how it worked on people from the Nether. Back home Dream had used those potions during warfare to drive them back, to narrow down their numbers. Tubbo could still remember how it’d felt, how he’d been disoriented, only able to register pain and color. 

Dream looked bad. His eyes were glazed, unseeing. He was breathing, but it was ragged, in time with the pain. 

Tubbo tugged at Dream’s sleeve, desperation writhing in his chest. 

“Please,” he hissed, glancing up at the hunters, “Please just— Get up. C’mon.” 

Dream blinked up at him lazily, shaking from pain. His lips were bleeding, probably from being bitten, and blood trickled down his chin. It strangely fit in with the oranges and reds of his eyes and cheeks. 

“Who’re you...?” 

Tubbo groaned harshly under his breath. He couldn’t hide the fact he was taking too long to check for a pulse. The hunters were occupied, talking amongst themselves, but it wouldn’t be for long. 

Sapnap was probably still watching him. 

Wait. 

Tubbo brushed a frenzied hand over Dream’s hair out of instinct, whispering nonsense to sooth him. Dream seemed to relax, eyes fluttering shut even as he tensed from another shockwave of pain. Tubbo watched the wafts of magic disperse into the air. The potion would wear off eventually. 

He didn’t have time for eventually. 

Tubbo took a deep steadying breath. 

“Hey!” 

Sapnap whipped around to face him, knives flashing. Tubbo smiled at him sheepishly as he glanced at the other hunters. They were strangely relaxed, Bad fussing over George’s arm as a swatted him away. He ignored how dismissed that made him feel. He was used to being underestimated. 

“Can you please help me with Dream?” Tubbo yelled over to Sapnap, “I think— I think he’s dead. I can’t tell, though.” 

Sapnap nodded, eyes still narrowed. He sheathed his knives, hiding them somewhere Tubbo couldn’t see. Tubbo discretely fondled his sword. He was armed. He’d be fine. It was hard to remember, though, when Sapnap stalked over. 

George and Bad were on the other side of the portal. Sapnap would have to pass the portal to get to them from where Dream was laying. 

Tubbo intended to use that. 

Sapnap crouched down next to Tubbo, checking Dream’s pulse. It wasn’t nearly as gentle as Tubbo had been, and he winced discretely at the way Dream groaned. It was quiet, but audible. 

Sapnap glanced up. 

“Why did you even want to check if he was alive if you couldn’t do it?” He asked, hands still grabbing at Dream. Tubbo watched his every move, tense. 

“I... Well excuse me for not thinking clearly,” Tubbo snapped, “It’s not like I’m surrounded by people who wanna kill me. Who want to kill Dream.” 

Sapnap tilted his head. 

“I’m sure you know about Dream,” he said, voice suddenly quiet, “He’s volatile. Dangerous. The king wants him dead. The. King. You can’t fight that.” 

Tubbo didn’t know this. Well. He knew Dream was dangerous. It didn’t matter which world he was in, he’d always know Dream was dangerous. But... the king? Tubbo shook himself. That wasn’t what was important right now. 

What was important was the way Sapnap stood, throwing Dream over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. 

Tubbo gulped, hurriedly standing too. He hung by Sapnap, worriedly watching as the hunter glanced down at him. 

“I’m taking him to my co-workers and we’re going to go turn him in,” Sapnap said, blunt and even, “You can go scram. If you’re really homeless there’s nothing I can do, really. Sorry.” 

Tubbo nodded absentmindedly, hand still tight around his sword. He walked beside Sapnap as they both headed towards George and Bad. 

Tubbo breathed deeply. Evenly. 

Step. 

His footsteps in the grass were soft, nearly silent. But he could still hear the rustling of the grass brushing against his boots. The boots this Dream had given him. 

Step. 

The portal was close by, magic radiating off of it almost suffocatingly. Heatwaves washed over Tubbo and he glanced at Dream. This Dream probably really liked heat, considering. Well. Everything. 

Step. 

Sapnap was watching George get bandaged up by Bad. Tubbo glanced at them too, bewildered. What was Bad doing, stopping George in his tracks in the middle of a situation where they might have to fight? 

Sapnap seemed to share the sentiment. He was watching Bad intensely, frown deep and thoughtful. 

Tubbo breathed. 

Then he swept a leg out, knocking Sapnap over. 

He tumbled, Dream falling with him. Sapnap fell with a rough scream and a grunt as Dream landed on top of him. 

Dream barely made a sound. 

Tubbo sheathed his sword, gritting his teeth. He ignored George’s shouts. Bad’s screeching. Ignored the way Dream seemed to truly be passed out now, eyes closed. 

He lurched forward, grabbing Dream with strength he didn’t even know he had, and threw himself at the nearby portal. 

Tubbo could hear Sapnap getting up, could hear his angry yelling, but by the time Sapnap threw a knife he was already through the portal, dragging Dream with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tubbo jumping through the portal as though the hunters can’t just jump in after him. Lol Give him a break, he’s tired. 
> 
> Also, I’m sorry for leaving you on a cliffhanger last time so as an apology I wrote a one shot! It’s inspired by Tubbo’s Nov 16th stream. So. Much. Angst. Potential. 
> 
> Also poor George, his arms are always getting hurt. What can I say, he just gets in the way, lol. 
> 
> I hoped you liked this chapter! <3


	15. Chapter 15

Tubbo stumbled out of the portal, collapsing onto ashy ground as Dream’s weight registered. He groaned, slipping out from beneath Dream, arms shaking from exertion and adrenaline. 

He didn’t stop to breathe. Didn’t stop to think. Tubbo pivoted, crawling to Dream’s side. 

He checked Dream’s pulse with jerky movements, tunnel vision making his pale skin wildly detailed. Dream’s pulse was stuttering against his fingertips and Tubbo panicked, grabbing at his chest. 

He needed— He needed an antidote, right? Or did he just need to wait it out? 

Tubbo groaned under his breath.

Dream would be okay. He needed to believe that. He needed— He needed to trust that the potion wasn’t fatal. 

Tubbo tried to calm his racing heart, tried to breathe. He breathed through his nose, the air thick with heat and smoke. He watched Dream’s chest rise and fall shallowly, watched his eyes flutter. He was still tense from pain even while unconscious, and Tubbo regretted not being able to do anything to help. 

He regretted not... not getting to know this Dream better, when he had the chance. They’d been traveling together for a while and had barely talked. It was his fault, he’d been too wary. Too scared of Dream’s name to seek a friendship. 

Tubbo forced himself to look away from Dream, heart pounding. He gasped shallowly, hands tightening around Dream’s wrists. 

The Nether here was beautifully empty. It looked hollow, red and orange and brown with nothing in between. The distant rooftop caged Tubbo in on all sides, and lava flowed in all directions. Red land rose on one side, disappearing against the hazy horizon. 

This Nether was different than what Tubbo was used to. 

Dream looked right at home here, despite his green clothes. The color scheme of his eyes and the coloration around them blended in beautifully, reds and oranges matching the lava. 

The sound of magic swelling snapped Tubbo out of his observations, and he scrambled to his feet, stumbling. He drew his sword, immediately whirling to face the portal. 

The portal he’d forgotten about, in his haze. 

Tubbo felt so, so stupid as he watched Sapnap and Bad stumble into view, one after the other. He felt small and naive. 

A voice that sounded suspiciously like Wilbur before everything, Wilbur when he was still a leader, whispered that it was okay. That everyone lost their thoughts in the rush of battle. That it was okay if he’d forgotten, everyone respawns ev— 

Sapnap was clutching his knives so hard Tubbo could see his knuckles whiten. He stared into Sapnap’s narrowed eyes, gulping. Fear swelled in his chest, and he glanced down at Dream, shifting to block him from the hunters. 

Sapnap looked angry. Like the embodiment of rage, tense and large and unstoppable. He looked frenzied, like he’d be pacing if he wasn’t battle ready. Like he was wrung out, tired. But so, so, angry. 

“Listen kid,” he growled, and Tubbo tensed further, hands tightening around his sword, “I don’t know why you keep— you keep insisting on getting in my way. But I just want to get this over with.” 

Sapnap glared. Grit his teeth. 

“Give. Me. Dream.” 

Tubbo bit his lip. 

(—you could just give this Dream up, a voice like Schlatt whispered, he’s Dream after all, no matter the world. This is just a business, a trade, you get away scot-free and the face from your nightmares is dead. Gone—) 

Tubbo set his shoulders. Glanced at Bad, who looked hesitant, far more relaxed than Sapnap did. 

George was absent. Tubbo was reminded of the long gash he’d cut into his arm only minutes before. Was reminded of how he’d been injured similarly already. He probably wasn’t coming. 

He could work with that. He could. 

Tubbo stared Sapnap in the eyes, determination swelling. 

“...No.” 

They didn’t stop for small talk. 

Sapnap raced towards him, all fury and jagged movements and efficiency. Tubbo moved in response, sword swinging. 

They crashed together, Sapnap’s shorter blades both squealing against his longer one. Tubbo stared into his eyes, red backlighting surrounding Sapnap’s form like a halo. He pushed against him, slipping the sword out from under the knives before jabbing forward. 

Sapnap dodged expertly, kicking upwards towards Tubbo’s face. Tubbo only had time to widen his eyes before he fell, head spinning. 

He staggered to his feet just in time to block another blow, arms shaking. 

Tubbo hadn’t been known for his ability in combat, before. He preferred long range, only using a sword by necessity. He was decent, but nowhere near their best when it came to combat. 

But he’d still fought through a war. Still seen skirmishes. 

He knew how to fight dirty. 

Tubbo swung, faking to the right. Sapnap responded, a knife and arm coming up to block. As he shifted Tubbo swept a leg subtly, hooking it around Sapnap’s and yanking. Sapnap tumbled to the dirt just like Tubbo had a second before, shock clear on his face. 

As he tried to scramble upwards he threw a knife. Tubbo tried to dodge, but he was too close. Too focused on getting up close and personal. The knife buried in his shoulder and he grunted, too focused to cry out. 

He didn’t hesitate to kick at Sapnap’s chest, even with a knife in his shoulder. Sapnap fell back against the ashy earth. Another knife had somehow materialized in his hand. 

He stared up into Tubbo’s eyes, confused and still full of rage. 

Tubbo didn’t see him. He didn’t see Sapnap, trembling subtly as he was pinned to the earth. He didn’t see the way his knives slipped from his fingers, his hands too sweaty and shaky. Didn’t see the sudden flash of panic. 

He saw an enemy that needed to be immobilized. 

Tubbo lifted his foot. He needed to bring it down. Needed to break Sapnap’s leg. That would be the quickest way. Something similar had happened to Fundy once. He’d complained the entire time he’d had to wait for it to heal. 

Tubbo didn’t feel a thing as he brought his foot down. 

Then he was stumbling, his sword clattering out of his hands, wrenched away by rough hands. He blinked, adrenaline rushing in his ears. 

It was Bad. 

Of course. He was stupid. There were two combatants. He was so stupid, that was twice now—

Bad was staring at him, face unreadable. Stony. 

Tubbo merely breathed, tense but also far too loose. Far, far too gentle. He stared at his sword in Bad’s hand. 

He’d failed. 

He didn’t look at Dream, didn’t want to. He’d die, here. To Sapnap’s rage. To Bad’s indifference. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Bad stared at the kid. 

The kid, who could fight against Sapnap and win scarily fast. The kid, who was about to ruthlessly kick him while he was down. The kid, who’d cried tears near the portal that seemed a bit too real to be fake. 

The kid, who seemed far too calm for his situation. He looked ghastly in the red lighting, skinny frame skeletal. Dream laying as though dead behind him didn’t do much to help the mental picture. 

Sapnap was getting up behind him. 

Bad breathed deeply, and turned. 

He brought Tubbo’s sword to Sapnap’s neck, mourning the friendship they might have had. If things were different. If he weren’t an imposter, an infiltrator. If he didn’t resent Sapnap’s one track mind. 

Then, maybe. 

Instead he watched Sapnap’s eyes widen with realization as he froze, before they narrowed slowly. Finally he settled on a tense glare, all anger and momentary hatred. 

“I knew it.” 

Bad bit his lip. He shifted, awkwardly sheathing his own sword at his side to get a free hand. Then he mutely slipped his glasses off, finally showing off his crimson eyes. They fit in with the surroundings eerily. 

His eyes were all softness, despite the color scheme. His mother used to say he was strangely kind for the harshness of the Nether. They were all reds and oranges with gentle softer shades mixed in. The oranges were muted, gentle. 

Sapnap stared into them like they were the most vile thing he’d ever seen. Something in Bad twisted. 

The knife at Sapnap’s neck never wavered as he turned to Tubbo. 

Tubbo, strangely silent and calm Tubbo, registered his eyes. Blinked. Then he smiled. 

He smiled. 

Bad smiled back, softly. Hesitantly. Then, he glanced at Dream and the smile slipped away. 

Bad pocketed his glasses. Drew his sword. Swapped which held Sapnap down lightening fast, only leaving a tiny cut along his throat. 

Then he threw Tubbo’s sword into the dirt at his feet. 

Tubbo snatched at it like it was a lifeline, immediately sheathing it. 

Bad inhaled shakily. Ignored Sapnap’s angry presence underneath him.

And stared Tubbo in the eyes. 

“Run. ...I’ll find you, eventually.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor George is just sitting on the other side of the portal with a sloppily bandaged arm. Waiting. 
> 
> Also Sapnap in Dream’s last video was almost as angry as my fictional version of him, lol. 
> 
> Bro my sister helped me come up with the Nether arc of this fic and she blew my mind with a plot idea sooo, be prepared. XD Hope you liked this chapter even tho its short, it felt wrong ending it anywhere other than here.


	16. Chapter 16

Sapnap stared up into Bad’s eyes. His crimson eyes, bloody in coloration and evidence of his betrayal. 

Was every conversation they’d ever had a lie? Were those quiet moments under the stars, the small smiles they’d shared as George rambled... all fake? 

Sapnap... found he wasn’t too surprised. 

“...Well. Why’re you doing this?” 

Bad seemed to falter at that. Sapnap wondered why. It was a simple question. Everyone had a reason, a motivation, for getting their hands dirty. 

“I can’t let you hurt Dream,” Bad growled, voice rougher than Sapnap had ever heard it, “Or the kid.” 

Sapnap scoffed even as the sword scraped against his chin. 

“He’s not a kid,” he said, “Definitely not. He’s a menace.” 

Bad grimaced, and Sapnap stared at his teeth, at how some were abnormally sharp. He wondered how he’d never realized earlier. It was so obvious, in hindsight. 

The rage that had bubbled under the surface, pressing against his insides in a way that made him feel like he was going to burst, to explode, if he didn’t go after Dream, started to dim.

But it didn’t go away. 

He needed that money. He needed it. This was his most important job ever. If he finished it, if he finally finished what George started, then maybe... then finally, hopefully— 

He’d have what he’d wanted since he was a little kid, hiding in alleys with George, hunger slowly killing him. He’d have what he’d wished for as he fell asleep during training, what he’d pushed himself for. 

He wasn’t going to let a traitor of a friend stop him. 

Sapnap growled lowly, huffing in frustration. He wasn’t uncontrolled rage anymore. He was lava but without the flow, still dangerous, but unmoving. Contained. 

The ash beneath his fingertips pressed underneath his nails, annoying and uncomfortable. 

“I don’t want to kill you,” Bad said, and Sapnap scoffed. 

“Sure,” he growled, “Sure. How many humans have you killed to protect your little Dreamie-poo, huh? I’m sure it’s more than zero. You’re probably just too much of a coward to kill me because you actually have a name to the face. A tragic backstory.” 

Bad’s sword pressed against his neck even harsher, and Sapnap grinned just as harshly. Blood trickled down his neck. The heat of the lava surrounding him made him a bit woozy, but he didn’t dare move. 

It wasn’t smart, taunting a Nether-freak in their home. But Sapnap wasn’t smart, he was ambitious and angry. 

Bad narrowed his eyes. His blazing eyes, full of reds and oranges and concealed hatred. Or at least, that’s what Sapnap saw, as he looked up at him. 

“I’ve never killed someone before that didn’t deserve it,” Bad said, voice steady, “And you don’t. You’re just misguided, I can tell.” 

“Oh, don’t get all preachy with me!” Sapnap spat, “You infiltrated the knights of the king, got high enough to be the princes personal guard, and then you have the nerve to tell me I’m misguided? You lived a life most Overworlders could only dream of and you used it to do your kinds’ dirty work.” 

Bad actually flinched at that, sword dipping. Sapnap almost moved, but the sword stayed pressed against his neck even as Bad frowned shakily. 

The distant sounds of the Nethers’ monsters covered the silence. They were as common as the hissing of lava, a crying wail, a groan of agony. It was chilling. 

“Don’t bring Antfrost into this,” Bad said, voice rising with each word, “I didn’t guard him just to see Dream! I cared! I did. You only care about money.” 

Sapnap snarled. 

“And that’s a bad thing?” He snapped, voice loud in his ears, “It’s obvious you’ve never had to fight for existence your entire life! You’ve never almost starved to death just because you didn’t have, guess what, money. You’ve never watched your friend cry at night, sleeping on cold stone because you couldn’t afford housing because of a lack. Of. Money. You’ve never—“ 

Sapnap barely registered Bad’s eyes widen. He plowed on even as the sword slipped away from his neck, too full of blind anger to notice. 

“...I’m doing my duty, unlike you, and making money—“ 

Bad punched his shoulder with such force that Sapnap slammed against the dirt, air leaving his lungs. He stared, shocked silent, as Bad lunged to the ground after him, screaming wordlessly. 

There was a wail, a sound of pure agony and hatred and sadness. 

And then a fireball slammed into the ground nearby. 

And the portal crumbled, magic dissipating with a damning hiss. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Tubbo panted, lightheaded. He felt like he was one step away from passing out, heat crushing over him. His chest felt too hot, lungs too small. 

His surroundings looked the same as they had a minute, hour, day ago. It felt too monotonous, one step after the other. Dream’s weight against his back was the only thing keeping him going, the knowledge that they had to get away. 

They had to. 

Tubbo whimpered softly, the knife in his shoulder shifting as he moved. He’d already had to stop moving to fight monsters of the Nether, all with the knife digging into his shoulder. Blood trickled down his shirt, staining it a rusty red. 

Dream groaned against his neck and Tubbo froze. 

He... He must be waking up. 

Tubbo surveyed his surroundings, panic swelling in his chest. He needed to make sure Dream was comfortable, that he had somewhere to rest...

He caught a glimpse of an outcropping of red higher up, so high that he hoped most monsters wouldn’t find them. 

And he climbed. He climbed, with a pack on his back and Dream slung over his shoulders. It wasn’t too steep, but every step felt like a mile. The weight was oppressive, heat making him blink back stars. 

Blink back fireworks and pain. 

It was all he could do not to curl up into a ball and shake, phantom walls boxing him in. But he pressed on, focusing on the weight against his back and the not on the way the heat made him remember. 

When he finally reached the top he collapsed, not even bothering to take off his pack. Dream fell on top of him, and he used the last bit of his strength to gently lay him out on the harsh dirt, hands shaking all the while. 

The world was wavering, his head both too light and too heavy. Tubbo had to blink back the black that threatened to make him pass out, slipping off his pack and grabbing at its opening. 

It took him a minute, hands shaking and eyes losing focus, but Tubbo found the water. He heaved it out of the pack, the bucket heavy in his shaking arms. 

He felt like melting into a puddle and never waking up. Instead, he waved the enchanted seal away from the top of the container and brought the bucket to his lips. 

It was messy, water sloshing over his face and washing over the cut on his neck, but he didn’t stop. He drank, and drank, until he remembered Dream. 

Did Dream need to drink water? 

He tried to think back to when they were traveling, head just a tiny bit clearer now that the world was settling into focus, but he couldn’t remember. Maybe Nether people, whatever they were called, didn’t need to drink water? That made sense. 

But... 

But Dream was sweating, tense in his sleep. He looked like he was in so much pain, so uncomfortable. 

Tubbo hesitantly set the water to the side. He scooted forward, hand coming to rest on Dream’s shoulder. He shook it gently, hands still shaking from exertion. 

“Please...,” he whispered, “Please wake up. I can’t do this alone.” 

Dream didn’t reply. Didn’t wake up. 

Tubbo sighed. Of course. At least the wisps of enchantment were gone, long since worn off. Dream was just in the aftershock phase, but that didn’t make it any less painful. But it was far less dangerous. 

Dream groaned again, face twisting, and Tubbo jumped. 

Wait. 

Dream’s mask. It was gone, left behind in the dirt of the field with the portal. 

Tubbo stared at Dream’s face. At the spiderweb of black dripping down his cheeks, at the reds that accented it, like lava cascading down his face. 

It was beautiful. 

He brought a hand up absentmindedly, curiosity getting the better of him. He brushed a finger across Dream’s cheek, jumping at the heat. Even in the Nether it was warm, and Tubbo retracted his hand immediately. Instead, he redirected it to Dream’s hair. 

A long time ago, during his first war, Wilbur used to stay by their sides if they were injured. He’d sit by the cots for as long as he could, brushing his fingers through their hair as a way of comfort. Of showing he was there. 

Tubbo only hesitated a second before he carded his fingers through Dream’s hair, carefully pulling at the tangles. He played with some of the strands methodically, trying to be soft and gentle. 

Dream’s face relaxed ever so slightly. 

“I don’t know you that well,” Tubbo whispered, halfway to himself, “But... You seem like a nice person. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for judging you on something you couldn’t control.” 

Tubbo smiled softly, even as he was surrounded by harsh heat and monsters on all sides. He shifted closer to Dream, his wounds protesting the movement. 

“I’ll do better, now. You’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throwback to the time when I was thirteen and in the Percy Jackson fandom and I wrote a Jason x Brick fanfic on Wattpad. Not Jason x someone named Brick. A literal brick. I had the brick break up with him because he was cheating on her with Piper. 
> 
> I wrote this chapter with the solemn knowledge that I’ll never top that fanfic no matter how hard I try.


	17. Chapter 17

Dream woke slowly. 

It was almost gentle, comforting, the way the heat wrapped around him. He felt at peace, finally somewhere where he could relax, somewhere where he didn’t feel some distant chill. 

It reminded him of his mother, of the way she’d cradled him, warm and secure. But never safe, not quite. 

He could feel himself slipping back under, could feel his thoughts falling away. 

Then the pain registered, a familiar searing over every inch of his body, and his eyes snapped open. 

All he could see was red. Red sky, red dirt, red staining his shirt and his hands. Dream sat up, groaning at the way his muscles protested. He dragged a hand over his face, exhaustion threatening to take him under even as pain washed over him. 

Wait. 

He didn’t have his mask on. 

“You’re... You’re awake!” 

Dream jumped, letting out a half squeal half gasp that he’d forever deny making. He whirled, hands flying to cover his face out of instinct. 

There was silence for a moment. 

Then Dream peeked through his fingers. 

It was... It was Tubbo. Tubbo, who looked like he’d been through hell and back. His shoulder was sloppily bandaged, visible through the torn sleeve of his shirt. His hair was matted, horns glaringly obvious. Though hard to see, his neck had a bandage tied around it, and his shirt was stained reddish brown. 

It was only Tubbo. Tubbo, who’d called his Nether traits beautiful. Pretty. 

Dream let his hands fall, heart hammering. 

“I’m so— I’m so glad,” Tubbo said, choking on emotion, “You’re finally awake. I’m so— Oh my god...” 

Dream blinked. 

...What?

He blinked, and he remembered. 

He remembered the arc of a potion flying through the air. He remembered pain, screaming, magic. 

He remembered collapsing, escape just out of reach. 

Dream lunged forward, grabbing at Tubbo’s hands. Tubbo flinched backwards before relaxing, letting Dream scramble over him, examine him. 

“What happened?” Dream yelped, “How are we...? Are you okay? Oh god, are you okay?” 

Tubbo frowned, face twisting in confusion. 

“I’m fine, I’m the one who should be asking that.” 

Dream shook his head, thoughts racing. Where were they? It must be the Nether, no place in the Overworld could be this desolate, but how? Where were the hunters? How was he alive? Why was he alive? 

“I’m okay, it doesn’t matter,” he dismissed, “What happened?” 

Tubbo sighed shakily, and Dream watched as he glanced away. There was a... hesitance, there. He grimaced. 

Oh. 

Dream understood. This was dangerous territory.

Tubbo looked up. 

“After you...,” Tubbo winced, “After you passed out, um, I fought out of George’s hold. And long story short I bluffed my way into being able to drag you through the portal without fighting.” 

Dream stared. 

What. 

Tubbo smiled shakily. 

“Then, um,” he continued, voice growing distant, “I wasn’t really thinking clearly, so I forgot that the hunters could follow me. They did. Well, two did. And I fought one, and won. Well, kinda. Um... then I ran away with you. Yeah.” 

Dream... should have expected this, really. 

Honestly, he’d suspected that Tubbo was more than met the eye a while back. It probably first truly clicked when he’d tackled Sapnap, full of rage and hurt and something else. Maybe it was when he’d held a sword for the first time, far more competent than any teen he’d seen that didn’t have royal training. 

Maybe it was when he’d agreed to come with him without a second thought to live in the Nether of all places. When he hadn’t cared about the bloody red that cascaded down Dream’s cheeks. 

Dream sat there. Watched as Tubbo fidgeted, and sighed. 

He wanted to scream, really. He wanted to scream, and scream, and just go back to sleep. Instead he sighed, heavily. Sighed like that could lift the weight of all the implications of Tubbo’s story off of his back. 

“...I feel like that’s a huge oversimplification.” 

Tubbo winced. 

“How did...,” Dream said, head aching, “How did you learn to fight so well that you fought off three whole royally hired hunters without dying? Or at least having to abandon me?” 

He didn’t say he would’ve been fine with it. That he’d actually expected Tubbo to run, as he watched the potion arc towards him. 

Tubbo looked uncomfortable. He fidgeted even more, shifting atop the red dirt. 

“...I grew up surrounded by fighting,” he murmured, “It’s... I don’t know much else, really.” 

Dream stared. 

He... couldn’t really understand. Grew up around fighting? Even in his kingdom no teen was on the front lines. They were still in training, if they were going to fight at all. Why...? What would cause him to be so used to it at... what, sixteen? 

Tubbo smiled at him sheepishly. 

“And, um, it was actually just two. Hunters that I beat, I mean.” 

Dream blanked. 

“.....What.” 

“Well, turns out Bad’s from the Nether too? Or at least I think so,” Tubbo said, “And when I was about to— when I beat Sapnap he took over and pinned him down with a sword so that I could get away. He said he’d find me. I don’t know how to feel about that, honestly.” 

Dream’s chest ached. His head hurt. The... The implications of that... 

Someone else. He’d seen someone else, had been around someone else from the Nether and hadn’t known? Someone from the Nether had helped them escape? 

....Someone... was like him? 

It... It couldn’t be true. 

Tubbo was staring up at him oddly, and Dream blinked rapidly, trying to push back the odd burning in his eyes. It didn’t work. 

Tubbo shifted forward, and Dream was suddenly all too aware of how close they were sitting to each other. Tubbo’s knees knocked against his but he didn’t move away, not like he might have even a week ago. 

Tubbo looked up at him, gentle and kind, even with dried blood in his hair and bandages around his neck. He looked up at him and smiled. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Dream blinked, confused. 

“About— About what?” 

Tubbo bit his lip, looking away momentarily. He looked conflicted, and Dream watched as he fiddled with the fabric of his shirt absentmindedly. 

“You don’t seem... okay?” Tubbo said, “I mean, um, Bad’s from the Nether, right? How do you feel about that?” 

Dream... 

Dream knew how he felt. His chest ached, eyes burned. There was this strange overwhelming longing, somewhere in him, that made him want to find this guy. Made him want to find him and scream at him and hug him and just—

“I’ve never met another person from the Nether before,” he admitted, the words stinging his tongue, “Except maybe my mother. I’ve never— I’ve always been something... other. Something not human, a freak. The only reason I knew there were others was because people referred to me as one of ‘the freaks’. I just...” 

He trailed off, staring at his hands. He shouldn’t be saying this. Dumping all of this on Tubbo. This was his problem. 

“You may be of the Nether,” Tubbo said, breaking him out of his thoughts, “but you’re the most human person I’ve met here. You’ve been kind to me, even when I acted so... skittish and hard to be around. You’re not— You’re not a freak.” 

Tubbo looked at him, so, so kind and calm that Dream forgot about the pain. Just for a moment all he could feel was something warm. 

The pressure behind his eyes grew and his breath hitched, hands flying to his face. They came away wet from tears, and he stared at them, hands shaking. 

“I... I’ve never actually had someone say that to me,” Dream whispered, “Isn’t that pathetic?” 

“You just hadn’t met decent people yet, I guess.” 

Dream snorted. He looked up, looked at Tubbo, and couldn’t stop himself from smiling. 

He wondered if Tubbo had ever gone through bits of what he had. The horns on his head weren’t... common. (—He wouldn’t use the word normal, he hated not being normal—) It made him feel even more comfortable around him, something within him loosening. 

Tubbo grinned up at him, then he faltered ever so slightly. 

“Um, can I— Can I please....”

Dream tilted his head. 

“Yes?” 

“Can I hug you?” 

Tubbo was wincing, almost like expected to be rejected. He was curled into himself ever so slightly, and Dream hated it. He steeled himself, and leaned forward. 

It was awkward, at first. They’d been sitting down, and their knees knocked against each other as they tried to shift into something more comfortable. 

Then Tubbo moved closer, buried his head in Dream’s shoulder, and everything fell into place. 

It was... peaceful. Calm. Even with the red on all sides, with the distant scream of monsters. With the blood on Tubbo’s sword. Dream could feel Tubbo breath against him, and it was hypnotic, reassuring. 

Reassuring, because there was someone else here. Someone here who cared, even if it was only a bit. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

George leaned against the portal, arm burning. 

He sat there, alone in the field. Trying to wait for Sapnap and Bad. Trying to hope that they’d come. 

He’d heard the magic shiver. Heard something snap, even though his side was still up. He knew what that meant. But... 

He couldn’t accept that. 

He’d wait. Maybe they’d be back by tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I had a nickel for every time I burned a pizza while writing this fanfic I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice.


	18. Chapter 18

George was scared. 

His friends hadn’t come back. No matter how long he’d stayed by the portal, pacing and trying to sleep once it got to be dark, they didn’t return. 

Flashes of horror stories wouldn’t leave his mind. Images of Sapnap dying to that kids’ sword. Of Bad burning to death in lava. Of Dream dying by Sapnap’s hands, a swift knife across the neck. 

No matter how much he paced and worried nothing got better. 

He’d heard the telltale sound of magic faltering. Snapping. He knew they wouldn’t be coming back. But... he wanted to believe that he’d heard wrong. That it was his mind playing tricks on him. 

He didn’t want to have to return to the king empty handed. Again. 

And this time with Sapnap already being there, pretending he wasn’t traumatized by another death. That he wouldn’t have nightmares about it for years. 

He didn’t even know if Bad had a bed. If knights were given that sort of luxury. The luxury of backup. 

He was scared. And he wouldn’t deny it. 

Scared that he was going to be alone again. 

He paced, arm aching with every movement. He ignored it, though. It wasn’t important. 

What was important was the time ticking away. Was that he’d waited an entire day by the portal, eating what he could find, working on tightening his bandages, just.... waiting. 

They weren’t coming back through the portal. He knew that. 

But what could he do? He couldn’t jump in after them, that was for sure, no matter how much he wanted to. All alone he’d be useless, wounded and dead as soon as he tried to find them. 

George tried to think of all his options. 

Tried to ignore what he knew he’d have to do. 

He could... He could stay. Just... hope. Foolishly hope and stay and hope until he withered away from stress. No. He couldn’t do that. 

That wouldn’t help anyone. 

He could gather resources. Heal. It would take time. Valuable time that he didn’t want to use, but it might be worth it, in the end. Then he could jump through the portal and see what happened. 

No. That was a suicide mission. He’d just be stuck with them, if they were even still alive. 

George grit his teeth, biting back a frustrated groan. He knew what he needed to do. 

He’d known it since he’d first registered what the sound had meant, yesterday. 

He needed to go back to the king. Needed to beg for reinforcements. For help. Tell him he was close. He was. 

And then he’d come back, with royal supplies and men. He’d come back and save them. 

He could do that. 

The king would understand. He’d sent him back after every failure, frustrated but still committed to finding Dream. It was only recently that he’d said he’d rather Dream come back dead than alive. Probably a symptom of frustration. 

But he’d understand. He had to. 

George gathered himself, set his shoulders. He grabbed the bags of supplies that he’d hidden away before the fight, slinging them over his back. 

He didn’t want to do this, but he knew he had to. 

George froze before he could walk away from the portal, chest tightening. He knew that they couldn’t come back... but. 

George slipped his pack off of his shoulders, rifling through it for a moment. He picked up his notebook, tearing a page out roughly. 

He scrawled a simple message. One vague but reassuring. If they came through the portal, they’d know where he went. What he was doing. 

He walked over to the portal and slammed the note into the obsidian with his best knife. It only barely chipped into it, but it was enough to hold the note. 

The knife had been given to him by Sapnap. 

He hoped he’d see him again before he respawned. He didn’t want to see him like that again. Confused and angry and hurt. 

George turned, pack hefted onto his shoulders and head held high. 

He could do this. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Tubbo watched as Dream stumbled upwards, using some of the outcropping to stand. He was still wobbly even after a day of recovery, the potion making every limb tender and sore. 

But he was still steady enough to fight, even with the aftershocks of a potion in his system. Tubbo admired that, even if did give him anxiety to watch all of the close calls, all of the times he narrowly avoided death. 

Tubbo was still singed from a fireball he’d had to deflect with his sword, his face slightly burnt. Dream had scolded him for minutes afterwards, telling him that it was his job since he was better in the heat, mothering resurfacing even in the Nether. 

So now he was their guard, with Tubbo by his side during the harder fights. 

Their little camp wasn’t safe, it only gave that illusion. It was still the best they had. Beyond it the Nether was vast and unforgiving, with nowhere to hide. 

Tubbo leaned back, trying to catch his breath. He breathed softly, evenly, as Dream gathered their belongings. They didn’t have much, but they had enough to survive for a little while. They were lucky. If Tubbo hadn’t managed to drag his pack with him...

Well. 

“Hey, Dream?”

Dream didn’t look his way, still focused. Tubbo noticed that he didn’t like to look at people head on when he didn’t have his mask on. 

“Yes?”

“How’re we going to get to the Netherborn settlement you were talking about? The one you said would be our home?” 

Dream faltered, hands tightening around the straps of the pack. Tubbo watched as he shuddered. 

It reminded Tubbo of when he didn’t want to think. When he thought too hard and remembered too much. When he forced himself to forget his past, the other world. 

“My... My mom used to tell me about it,” Dream murmured, “She said it was near the heart of the Nether, that only someone with Netherborn blood would be drawn to it. It’s... She described landmarks.” 

Tubbo nodded. 

He stood, ignoring the pain in his neck. In his shoulder. He hardly ever thought about it, even though he knew it hurt. He’d learned to detach from pain a while ago. 

Dream was doing the same, he could tell. 

“Is your mom in the Overworld?” 

Dream flinched, and Tubbo slapped a hand over his mouth, scolding himself. He shouldn’t have asked that. He’d just verbalized his first thought absentmindedly, without a care. 

Dream didn’t seem mad, but he looked even more uncomfortable as he scooted the pack over to Tubbo. Tubbo threw it on as Dream watched, red eyes never making eye contact. 

He didn’t answer the question, looking away. Tubbo shuffled, shame bubbling to the surface. 

“....I’m sorry,” Tubbo said, “I shouldn’t have asked. My... My family has always been an uncomfortable topic for me, so I understand if you don’t want to answer.” 

Dream shook his head, biting his lip. 

“It’s not that,” he said, “It’s just... I haven’t talked about her to anyone in a while.” 

Tubbo could see the tension in Dream’s shoulders, could see the way he seemed almost restrained. He knew that look. 

“Would you like to? Talk about her while we walk, I mean. You don’t— You don’t have to.” 

Dream smiled softly. He looked guarded, yes, but also relieved. Like a burden had been lifted off of his shoulders. 

“I’d like that.” 

They got ready to leave, Dream walking carefully over to Tubbo’s side. Tubbo was doing all of the heavy lifting, carrying the pack. All Dream had was his sword, strapped to his side. Anything else and he might fall. 

It was amazing he even managed to fight at all in his state. Tubbo admired that, the stubbornness and sheer power that would take. 

Dream looped an arm over his shoulders, leaning against Tubbo gently. He didn’t really need it, but it helped. 

And any little thing that would help in the long run was worth it. 

Tubbo glanced up at him. 

“Ready when you are.” 

Dream nodded, and they started to move. It was slow, Dream’s longer legs making their pace jagged and stumbling. But they made it work. It was awfully open, now. They could see the monsters that they might have to fight in the distance from so far away that they looked like dots. 

After a moment, Dream started to talk. 

“My mom loved gardens,” he said, voice soft and right in Tubbo’s ear, “She practically lived in the one we had while I was growing up. Most of my memories of her are from there, planting flowers or making little crowns...” 

Tubbo nodded along, watching a particularly close pool of lava out of the corner of his eye. 

“I used to call her Fairy, she was so mysterious,” Dream continued, “And that was only solidified when she disappeared when I was... ten? Eleven? Around then.” 

Tubbo grimaced. He could relate to that far too much. Absentee family was practically his whole childhood. He felt a pang of sympathy, but mostly... mostly it was a strange sort of companionship. Understanding. 

“I’ve had people leave too,” Tubbo said, voice soft. 

Dream leaned further against him, almost in a parody of a hug. 

“Really?” 

“...Yeah,” Tubbo said, “I’m an orphan. Um, an abandoned one. Not from deaths or anything. I never knew my parents, but their absence was still... there. Y’know?” 

Dream was silent for a while. They passed another pool of lava before he spoke, small and quiet. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’s this? A subplot in my subpar myct fanfic? More likely than you’d think. 
> 
> Also, I’m sorry about how consistently short each chapter is. I tried to make this one longer but... it turned out really trashy so I cut it shorter. I guess my writing style just doesn’t work with longer chapters.


	19. Chapter 19

It was warm. It was warm, and hot, and he could feel the heat against his face. 

“I’m sorry— I’m so sorry.” 

The heat was unbearable, never ending. It burned his face away, burned him until he died, again and again and again. 

Someone looked at him, full of scorn and heat and anger. 

“...You’re just a yes man, aren’t you?” 

He was. But he was also, so, so hot. He was so warm. Burning. He was melting, dying. 

Red and blue and white, then red and red again. 

He was building, even as the heat burned him away. Building his own ceremony. His own stage, where he’d die. Again and again. And melt. 

Someone was screaming his name. But it didn’t matter, because all he could feel was heat and betrayal and warmth. 

Red. Blue. White. 

Someone shook him, grabbed his shoulders. They were just as warm as his insides, but it was different. 

His name. Someone was calling his name. 

Tubbo woke up, gasping for air. He lurched forward, hands flying to his face. 

He felt dizzy from heat and thirst, the red world spinning over and over. A hand was gently touching his back, rubbing a methodical circle, and he tried to focus on that and not on the way the heat brought back memories. Memories he’d rather forget. 

He— He was okay. He was okay. He was alive. He was here. He— It was... alright. 

He wasn’t on the stage. He wasn’t with Techno, with Tommy. As much as it hurt, it was also a reassurance. 

He wasn’t safe here, in the Nether. But he was safer than he had been. Safer with Dream at his side. 

Dream, who was mutely rubbing circles in his back, smiling. 

It still felt... wrong, to associate Dream with safety. With that comfortable feeling of just... calm. Care. But, he did. This Dream was different. 

This Dream listened to him. Talked to him like an equal, helped him when he was injured. Acted a bit too protective. 

Tubbo wanted to get to know him. He wanted... He wanted friendship. 

This Dream wasn’t Tommy and never would be. But... He could still be something. Himself. A friend. 

Tubbo hadn’t even noticed that his breathing had calmed down. He blinked, sighing softly. It felt... nice, to be so calm so soon after a nightmare. 

He was used to long mornings of... just remembering. Of self pity. Of wanting to die again, hoping maybe the respawn magic would just... take him back. (Secretly, he knew it wouldn’t work, that he’d die for good. It didn’t stop him from fantasizing.)

But here he was, so calm so soon after a nightmare. He’d been doing better, lately. Even before he’d met this Dream he’d mellowed out. He’d never completely get rid of the nightmares, but they’d stopped being so frequent. 

Instead, the terror had turned into numb loneliness. 

He glanced over at Dream, who smiled at him. Dream looked rough, eye bags like bruises and hair tangled. But he still looked... at home. Like he belonged there, among the reds and browns. 

Tubbo wondered what that was like. 

“Are you okay, Tubbo?” Dream finally asked, voice gentle, “You can talk about it. You don’t have to, of course, but, um. Yeah.” 

Tubbo looked at his lap, hands twisting together. 

He had options. 

It was hard, trusting. He’d been through fights with Dream, now. This Dream, anyway. He’d fought for him, had almost died for him. But he... he still had problems trusting him. 

What if, when he told him the truth, he thought he was lying? That he was crazy? 

What if he left? 

But on the other hand, he could lie. Could lie and avoid and do the opposite of what he’d promised himself. He said he wanted to get to know this Dream. But that... that had to go both ways. 

Tubbo took a deep breath. 

“I dreamed of the last time I died,” he admitted, the words sour on his tongue. 

There was silence. 

Tubbo looked at hands, watched as they twisted together. He played with them, anxiety building with every second that Dream stayed silent. 

He shuffled, trying not to close his eyes. To hide like a coward. 

Dream hadn’t moved. 

“...What?” 

Tubbo winced. He didn’t look up, didn’t do anything other than avoid looking at Dream. It was scary, but he tried to reason that it was like ripping off a bandage. It hurt, but it’d be worthwhile. 

It was hard to think like that when Dream was silent beside him, frozen. 

“Um,” Tubbo murmured, “Y’know how I said I grew up around fighting? Yeah. I, uh, I died. A lot.“ 

Tubbo finally mustered up the courage to glance at Dream. 

Dream was sitting there, by his side. His face was... blank, almost. He looked shellshocked, unnerved. His hands were limp in his lap, and he shook, face twisting. 

Tubbo shivered despite the heat. 

“...You died.” 

“Yes.” 

“...You have a bed?” 

Tubbo looked away. 

“Not anymore,” he admitted, the words sour. 

Dream looked almost... angry, now. Tubbo flinched back, trying to hide how nervous he was. How much it would hurt... if Dream just left. The logical part of him knew he wouldn’t leave for something so trivial. 

But the rest of him saw the anger, barely hidden in Dream’s face, and couldn’t help but assume the worst. 

“I can just... um, go,” he whispered, “I know I’m just a burden, really. I could leave, for the good— for your good. You could live easier without me.” 

Ghosts of whispers clogged Tubbo’s ears, but he tried to ignore them. They stayed, no matter how hard he tried. 

It was always Wilbur, telling him to do something ‘for the good of the cause’. It was Eret, whispering that he’d done it for his ‘greater good’ and that it’d been a ‘necessary sacrifice for his happiness’. 

It was Tommy, always implying that nothing was as important as his disks. That he’d do anything, bring entire countries to ruin, to war, for them. 

Tubbo didn’t want to leave Dream, but maybe it was better that way. Maybe, if Dream was really mad about him dying so often, he could just leave. 

He didn’t want Dream to think he was weak. 

Dream was staring at him now, practically glaring. It was intense, especially with how his eyes almost glowed in the low light of the Nether. 

“Is that what you think?” Dream asked. 

Tubbo blinked. 

“What?” 

“Do you think you’re a burden because you’ve died a lot in the past?” Dream asked, “That you’re a liability because you don’t have a bed? That I would want you to leave all of the sudden, just because you admitted to having a horrible childhood?!” 

Dream looked so angry and sad and torn that Tubbo flinched away, scooting across the dirt. He glanced around, nervous that his voice might attract monsters. 

Tubbo tried to gather himself, to defend himself. 

“Well, you looked angry!” He yelped, “How else was I supposed to interpret it?” 

Dream’s face crumbled, and he dragged a hand down his face.

“Maybe I was just upset that you had to go through something like that!” He said, voice softer, “Maybe I was angry at whoever made you... fight or die or whatever. Maybe I was angry that I can’t do anything about it!” 

Tubbo... Tubbo stared.

...What?

He knew that already. He knew that he shouldn’t have gone to war. He knew that he was too young, that it shaped him too much. He knew he shouldn’t have known what dying felt like at thirteen. But...

But it wasn’t... None of adults around him had ever cared. They’d dragged him into war and then treated him like an adult himself. He wasn’t a kid, in their eyes. He was a spy. A warrior. A right-hand man. 

“You... It’s not your fault,” Tubbo said, still marveling at the fact he even had to say that. 

Dream groaned, running a hand through his hair. 

“I know! I know,” he said, “But... I hate just... slowly learning more about you and then just having to fill in the gaps with horror stories. And then you just tell me stuff like this and—“ 

His breath hitched. 

“—and it hurts because I barely know you but I still hate that you had to go through that and I just... I just... I feel so weird and I’m sorry.” 

Tubbo didn’t know how to react. Dream looked devastated, far more upset than even Tubbo felt.

Should he apologize for oversharing? Apologize for having the childhood that he did? 

Tubbo fidgeted, deep in thought, then he froze. Yes. That could work. 

“...Dream?” 

Dream looked at him, blinking rapidly. He... almost looked like he was blinking back tears. 

“I had a friend named Tommy,” he said, ignoring the way saying his name hurt, “And he was amazing. Genuinely. He loved making everyone laugh, and react to him. But...” 

Tubbo hesitated, looking up into Dream’s eyes. His eyes full of red and orange and... and care. His eyes that set him apart from the Dream of his world. 

“But he was in a bad situation, that he wouldn’t tell me much about”, Tubbo continued, “I wanted to help him so much. And I did. I did what I could, anyway. But one day, when I confessed to him how much... how much it hurt to see him like that, he said... He said that me being there. That was what helped.” 

Tubbo watched as Dream smiled. It was small and hesitant, but it was there. 

He snorted, bittersweet memories of Tommy rising to the surface. 

“Well, he didn’t say it quite like that,” Tubbo said, amusement in his tone, “He called me an idiot and other things. But... you understand what I mean?” 

Dream nodded. Then he hesitated, looking away. He fidgeted just slightly. 

“...Would you tell me more about him? As we walk?” 

It hurt. 

It hurt a lot, to remember Tommy and Wilbur and everyone he used to know but... But it was also freeing, to have someone to talk to. 

“Of course.” 

Dream nodded, standing up. He still looked upset. Tubbo was still a little wary. But he hoped it would get better as they walked. 

Dream glanced down at him, frowning playfully. 

“But if you think you’re getting away with not explaining what you mean by ‘the last time you died’ you’re sorely mistaken young man.” 

He wagged a finger in Tubbo’s direction and Tubbo giggled, hauling himself to his feet. He laughed at Dream’s expression even as his chest tightened at the thought of explaining. Of telling the truth. 

Tubbo pushed it aside. He’d deal with it later. 

“Yes, mom,” he drawled, laughing at the way Dream smirked. 

Dream nodded, putting a hand on his hip. He pointed at their belongings, all strewn around the pack. 

“Pick this up, and then we’ll get going. How do you expect to make it in the world if you don’t even clean up after yourself?” 

Tubbo groaned, pushing at Dream’s shoulder. Dream was steadier now, not really in much pain. But Tubbo still tensed after he did it, afraid he’d pushed a boundary. 

But then Dream shoved at him gently in return, and Tubbo relaxed, allowing himself to have fun. To banter. 

It felt good, even if he knew they had a long trip ahead of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Toothbrush did it again. They made fanart. Oh my god. 
> 
> https://imgur.com/a/SHhotXR


	20. Chapter 20

Dream surveyed his surroundings, a bittersweet smile on his face. 

It was so weird, passing by places his mother had whispered about in his furthest memories. It was surreal every time he recognized something out of place, a code carved into red rocky terrain that Tubbo didn’t notice until he pointed it out. 

He watched as Tubbo ran fingers over the foreign letters, eyes wide and full of wonder. 

And that was the thing. 

Dream hadn’t been able to forget the look on Tubbo’s face when he’d admitted to dying. Multiple times. Plural. It’d made him so angry, to think of any kid being forced into that. 

Dream had died. But only once. He’d vowed to never let it happen again. He’d trained, pushed himself to the limit, had hidden himself away. It’d been back when he’d had a bed. A home. But he’d still been terrified of the thought of feeling that pain, that void, again. 

He’d seen the look on Tubbo’s face, and had wondered how he’d ever smiled at all. How he’d bantered with him in their time in the Overworld, in the precarious time where they were still tiptoeing around each other. 

“Dream, this is so cool!” 

He smiled, watching as Tubbo brought some of the powdery red to his nose, sniffing as though it’d reveal some hidden secret. All it did was make him sneeze. Dream couldn’t hold back a wheeze of laughter at his expression. 

“It smells like... death and when a lady hates you,” Tubbo said, matter of factly. 

Dream snorted, hand flying to his mouth to muffle his laughter. 

“...What... What does ‘when a lady hates you’ smell like?” 

Tubbo glanced over at him, staring at him condescendingly. 

“It smells like death?” He drawled, “The death of your social life.” 

Dream couldn’t stop himself from guffawing, bending over slightly as he wheezed. It was just— What did that even mean? 

Tubbo smirked softly, brushing the red off of his fingertips onto his shirt. He giggled, and then leaned against the engravings. 

“So. What does this mean, oh wise one?” 

Dream loved the way Tubbo was... just comfortable. More comfortable, anyway. There was still a boundary he shouldn’t push. So many secrets that he shouldn’t ask about. 

But...

But they could finally fall into a conversation without the looming awkwardness. He could finally laugh and smile and tease. 

All it’d taken was almost dying and leaving Tubbo to fend for himself in the Nether. 

“Well, the direction the words are written in are the way we’re supposed to walk, I think,” Dream said, lost in memories, “See, this shape here...”

He pointed to a large squiggly shape, one with a line gashed through the center. 

“...It’s a letter. I don’t know which, but my mom— my mom used to say that this shape would have a gash that pointed in the direction of the... stronghold? Settlement? The... place.” 

Dream traced the gash with his eyes. It pointed to the left, past a vast ocean of lava and towards a narrow strip of land that extended into the foggy abyss. 

Tubbo seemed to have sobered during his mini speech, a small frown on his face. 

“I didn’t know the Nether had such... civilized structures, a language, all of that,” he said. 

Dream ignored the way the words made his chest tighten. They were just a lack of understanding, not purposeful maliciousness. He knew that. 

“Yeah,” Dream answered, still staring at the looping writing, “This was all my mom would talk about, when we were alone. She loved her home. She missed it. Maybe she... Maybe that’s where she went.” 

The thought of being able to see her once they got to the settlement was a fleeting one. A fantasy. But it still brought a small smile to his lips. 

Tubbo was watching him, frowning slightly. He looked conflicted, closed off all of the sudden. 

Dream blinked. Wait. 

“Hey, when was the last time you drank anything?” 

Tubbo groaned under his breath. 

“Only a few hours ago,” he said, crossing his arms when Dream narrowed his eyes, “What? We need to ration it! I... If we run out before we make it to the settlement...” 

Dream didn’t want to think about that possibility. It wasn’t likely, he’d made sure to try and prepare for anything. Pack for anything. 

Tubbo shuffled, fidgeting. 

“...Do you think the settlement will have water? Food?” Tubbo wondered, “That’s kinda a huge issue.” 

Dream blanked. 

“....Uhhhh, they should, right?” He said, “Netherborn need to eat too. And the mushrooms here are edible. Um, and the water...” 

He dragged a hand down his face, suddenly feeling stupid. He shouldn’t have done this. 

“Oh no.”

This was bad. 

But Tubbo just smiled softly, shaking his head. 

“It’s okay,” he said, “If they don’t I can just make a portal to use for supplies. And if that becomes too dangerous I can just break it, and wait a while before making a different one. Right?” 

Dream nodded slowly, eyes still staring at the wall of carvings. It was hard to look away, even as he was talking to Tubbo. 

“Yeah...,” he murmured, “Though you’ll need to save some water for a portal, then.” 

“You need to drink too, Dream.” 

Dream waved him away. 

“No, no, it’s fine,” he said, “I don’t need as much as you do. Half ‘n half, remember?” 

Now that Tubbo had offered a solution, Dream relaxed, watching as the lava behind the wall seemed to light it up from behind, casting a glow. It made every carving hidden in shadows, glowing light licking at the sides. 

He wondered why they ever put the carvings up in the first place. Why they made an elaborate system to hide where their settlement was, but also to guide Netherborn to it. 

Tubbo shifted from beside him, and Dream grit his teeth, forcing himself to look away. 

“C’mon, we need to go,” he said. 

Tubbo nodded, hoisting the pack up higher on his shoulders. He drew his sword as they walked towards the pathway, ready for any monsters that might materialize on their way. 

Dream walked beside him, hoping that he’d see someone like him soon, someone of the Nether.

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Sapnap hated traveling with Bad. 

It brought this primal sort of fear to the surface that he had to push away. Had to ignore. He’d never been good at handling fear. It always turned into anger, which in turn turned into frustration. 

And he was extremely frustrated right now. So frustrated that he wanted to grab the nearest monster and wring its neck.

“Oh my god, I hate you,” Sapnap growled, pivoting on a heel and glaring at Bad. 

Bad sighed deeply, a hand coming up to rub at his forehead. He looked so tired, annoyed. 

“You can run off again if you want, but you’ll die,” he said, “I’m the best chance you’ve got of getting out of here.” 

Sapnap turned away. He didn’t want to see Bad. Didn’t want to see the man who he’d started to see as a tentative friend. 

It was strange, knowing he was talking with someone from the Nether. A Netherborn. The only times he’d ever heard about them and paid attention were during jobs, when he was sent after one. Or in alleys where kids whispered horror stories of them melting out your eyes and sucking out your body heat. 

Or when the king sent him after one with the fitting background of being a murderer. 

Bad was probably a murderer, too. Had to be. They all were, anyway. No one that close to the king was clean. But Bad must be positively filthy. 

It almost made him nervous. And nervousness always turned into anger, even when he didn’t want it to. 

“Maybe I’d rather die than live having to talk to a Nether-freak!” He growled, even as he refused to look at Bad. 

Bad didn’t even sigh. He just kept walking at his side, monotonous and silent. It was unnerving. 

They walked quietly, only the sound of Sapnap’s practically silent footsteps next to Bad’s clunky ones filling the silence. Sapnap could feel himself growing more tense as every second passed. 

Sapnap glared at his feet. 

“...Aren’t you offended?” Sapnap asked after a moment, frustration bubbling over, “Say something!” 

He made the mistake of looking at Bad. 

Bad was stoic, stone cold. His glasses were on, broken but still intact. He looked the least expressive Sapnap had ever seen him, closed off and emotionless. 

He looked like he did when he was standing at attention in a hallway, not meant to be seen. Not meant to be paid attention to. 

Bad’s mouth twitched. 

“How can I be offended when you’ve hardly said anything worth getting mad about?” He asked, sounding genuinely curious, “I’ve heard tons of Overworlders say worse things about my kind. I’ve seen Overworlders kill my kind. Your whining won’t do a thing.” 

Sapnap froze. 

Something about the hidden bitterness in Bad’s tone felt familiar. Far too familiar. 

He knew that Overworlders had killed Netherborn. Of course they had. Netherborn had killed just as many Overworlders, too. So... He didn’t have a right to be mad about it. Well, he did, but he shouldn’t be more mad than Sapnap. 

No, wait...

Sapnap cursed under his breath. He was so confused, and he forced himself to push away something that felt too similar to guilt. 

“...Language.” 

Sapnap snorted. 

“Yeah. Mmhmm.” 

They lapsed into awkward silence, only the sound of their labored breathing and the distant wails of monsters filling the silence. 

Sapnap drew his knives, the ones he’d grabbed out of the dirt after the fight. He cleaned the monster blood off of them as best he could, swiping them against his shirt. Anything to not have to talk to Bad. 

He hadn’t been prepared to travel through the Nether. The water he did have was in magically sealed away buckets for emergencies. And those would run out soon. The heat was intense, blistering and dizzying, and once he ran out of water.... well. 

It was terrifying, really. Knowing that he only had a tiny bit of water. That he was on a ticking countdown to when he might just... pass out and die. Even without Bad looming nearby, he was scared. He hated being scared. 

A monster scuttled in the corner of his vision, but he ignored it. Maybe if he just kept walking he wouldn’t have to engage. Hopefully. 

Bad seemed to be feeling fine, walking with just as much ease through the Nether as he had in the Overworld. Sapnap hadn’t even seen him drink since they’d gotten trapped. 

He... was kind of jealous. But only a bit. 

The silence was almost suffocating. Sapnap was used to bantering with George during missions, or, most recently, to having hushed conversations with Bad. Now, though... It was silent. 

“...Um, so where are we going?” 

Bad glanced at him, a tiny smile on his face before it fell away almost as soon as he’d noticed it. 

“We’re going to the Netherborn settlement. That’s where Dream’s the most likely to go, and there’s supplies there. You’ll probably be able to go through a portal.” 

Sapnap stared. He stopped walking, watching as Bad faltered, turning to look at him. 

“...The Netherborn settlement. You’re taking me,” Sapnap gestured to himself, “to the Netherborn settlement.” 

Bad tilted his head. His hand was lying on his sword, not quite tense but always ready. He nodded slowly. 

“It’s either that or you die,” Bad said, matter of fact, “And I don’t really want to see you die here, no matter how rude you are.” 

Sapnap growled under his breath, kicking at the reddish dirt beneath his shoes. 

“I thought we were just tracking Dream or something,” Sapnap grumbled. 

Bad looked at him like was crazy even as he hopped over a small pool of lava pool without a care in the world. 

“That’d be going against my mission, I’m trying to meet up with him once he’s at the settlement and not before,” Bad said, tone far too soft, too nice, to be directed at Sapnap, “I’m only helping you because I don’t want you to die.” 

Sapnap grit his teeth, refusing to continue the conversation. 

This was going to be a long trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Actually getting to check in with George, all alone and booking it to the castle. (Plus other things of course)


	21. Chapter 21

Tubbo tried not to pant as heat washed over him, making his head light. Every step felt monumental, and he found himself focusing on the rhythm so he wouldn’t drift away, the heat making his thoughts slightly fuzzy. 

He was starting to regret wanting to live here with Dream. Just a bit. He still wanted it, of course, but he wasn’t made for heat like this. It was miserable. 

Dream seemed fine beside him, walking at a steady gait. He was silent, a steady presence. Despite how much closer they were now they still didn’t talk very much. There were long periods of silence, companionable silence, but silence nonetheless.

It seemed like this Dream was naturally quieter. He liked to talk, but then sometimes he just... turned off, like a switch was flipped. 

It was so different from Tubbo’s other constant. Well, the constant in his past. Tommy was always loud, always there. He was loud and bright and his silences were few and far between. They were always a cause for worry. 

He’d gotten quieter, the further into war they got. The last time Tubbo had talked to him had been the quietest conversation they’d ever had. 

But here, with Dream, silence was different. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t awkward. Well, it was sometimes, but not much. It was just... the way they worked. Sometimes they’d banter and other times it was silent for what felt like an hour. 

This was one of those times. 

They’d passed another sign, another huge wall of red with symbols carved into it, recently. Dream was always quiet after seeing one. 

Lost in thought. 

Tubbo hummed under his breath, quietly so as to not attract any monsters. It always helped him concentrate on the now and not on memories. If he created a tune it was what he was focusing on, not some random memory. 

Even if, sometimes, he found himself humming an old anthem. 

Those were his worst moments. When he couldn’t stop himself from wondering how the war was going. If his friends, his family, were still alive. 

It was easier to pretend his world had frozen in his absence, that the war was over. 

Tubbo stopped humming, forcing himself into the present. 

The pathway they were following dropped off into lava on one side. The other side was a wall of red, and at first Tubbo had been terrified of falling. Of dying in the heat again. 

But then Dream had put himself on the side closest to the lava, and he had a wall of safety, even if it was superficial. 

Tubbo watched his feet crunch against the dry earth, ignoring the sweat slipping down his neck. His hair was getting longer now, after everything, and he had to brush it out of his eyes every minute or so. 

Dream’s hair was longer too, long enough he could probably pull it back if he wanted to. Tubbo was tempted to do it himself. Playing around with hair was a hobby of his. Not actually styling anything, he just loved making ridiculous hairstyles and watching as his victim realized what he’d done. 

He’d given Fundy pigtails, once, one’s that’d complimented his white streak of hair. Fundy had never let him touch his hair again. 

Tubbo stared at Dream’s hair, lost in thought. 

“...I can feel your eyes on me.” 

Tubbo jumped, sheepish even though he hadn’t been doing anything wrong. He looked away, then he forced himself not to laugh as he got an idea. 

Dream slowed down ever so slightly. 

“What’s up?” 

Tubbo forced himself not to smirk. 

“Oh, I was just staring at your hair.” 

Tubbo watched as Dream’s face twisted, glowing eyes crossing as he looked upward towards his bangs for a split second. 

“...Okay....that’s nice....?” 

Tubbo snorted, muffling a laugh into his hand. They walked in silence for a moment, with Tubbo purposefully glancing at Dream’s hair every few seconds. He made sure to look at it as harshly as he could, burning a hole into the back of Dream’s head. 

Finally, Dream slowed again, a small frown on his face. 

“...What’s wrong with my hair?” 

Tubbo shrugged nonchalantly, eyes wide and innocent. 

“Oh, it’s just interesting,” he said, perfectly aware of how Dream’s face twisted when he said it. 

Dream nodded mutely, though Tubbo watched as he played with his bangs absentmindedly. He looked almost nervous, and Tubbo couldn’t stop himself from snorting. 

They fell back into comfortable silence, Tubbo entertaining himself by watching Dream touch his hair every few minutes. After a while he slipped his pack off, pulling water out as he walked. 

Tubbo sipped on the water carefully, trying not to spill anything. The air was so hot that if it weren’t for the preservation enchantments he was pretty sure it would’ve evaporated by now. It was almost instant relief, the bit of dizziness he hadn’t even noticed pushed back by cold clarity. 

“Are you thirsty?” 

Dream glanced his way. 

“Only a little, really,” he said, “I’ll be fine.” 

Tubbo narrowed his eyes, but didn’t push it. He’d already done that earlier, and despite how much more comfortable he was now he still didn’t want to push his luck.

“You’re gunna pass out soon, I reckon,” he murmured under his breath, quiet enough he was pretty sure Dream couldn’t hear. 

The narrow pathway they were on was slowly widening, and Tubbo found he could breath a little easier as he followed the wall away from the pool of lava. Dream seemed a bit more reluctant to leave the heat, but he followed close by, still putting his body between Tubbo and the lava. 

Tubbo appreciated it, even if Dream’s mothering tendencies were kinda funny sometimes. Especially when he didn’t realize he was doing it. 

Speaking of mothering...

“Did your mom teach you how to read the Netherfolk language?” 

Dream tensed, and Tubbo winced, wishing he could retract his words. Sometimes he hated how he just... said what first came to mind. Most of the time it was fine, just a weird joke or two, but...

“...Sorry, that was out nowhere,” Tubbo said, walking a bit faster. 

Tubbo watched Dream shake his head out of the corner of his eye. 

“No, it’s fine,” he said, “Just caught me off guard.” 

There was a pause, before Dream seemed to gather his thoughts. 

“She... didn’t have the time to really teach me,” he said, voice slow and lost in thought, “It was our little secret, that’s what she told me. Any time she talked about the Netherfolk, and me being part of them, it was in the garden. Hidden away...” 

Dream looked up at the wall of red, watching some subtle symbols pass over their heads. They twisted in obvious patterns, but Tubbo couldn’t make anything out. The thought of Dream not being able to either felt... sad. 

“I don’t actually know much about anything, honestly. About my family, on my mothers’ side. About how they lived.” 

Tubbo hated the look on Dream’s face. The way the red and black on his cheeks looked like jagged tears as he blinked rapidly, a melancholy smile on his face. 

He scrambled for something to say, anything to turn the conversation away from Dream. 

“...Um, I don’t know my family either! Well, you knew that, but I don’t... uh. Even— Even the guy who took me in is kinda a mystery to me, if I’m being honest.” 

Dream turned his gaze from the wall, staring at him. His eyes blazed, and Tubbo couldn’t make himself look away. 

“You were adopted?” 

Tubbo smiled softly. 

“Kinda. Yeah,” he said, “I had unofficial brothers too. Well... I was kinda more like the strange cousin or something, to them. Or the friend of the family. Tommy was the one I was the closest to. Y’know, my best friend?” 

Dream nodded, smiling. 

“That’s nice. I have a brother too.” 

Tubbo nearly tripped, hands tightening on his water bucket at the last second. 

“Wait, really?!” 

Dream’s face darkened suddenly, as though he’d just realized what he’d said. He looked away, walking a bit more forcefully. 

“Yes. I... I don’t talk to him anymore.” 

And that was that. Tubbo let the conversation drop, content to push it aside. He wouldn’t pry. 

His own family was a sensitive subject too. They... didn’t really act like his family much at all. Especially during the war. All he’d had was Tommy, and while he loved him, he... wanted a familial connection too. Wilbur certainly hadn’t been that. And Phil...

Tubbo couldn’t remember what Phil’s voice sounded like. 

He kept walking, clutching at the water bucket. He probably should put it away, but it felt nice to have something to do while they walked, something to hold. 

When they weren’t talking, the trip could be really boring. The monotony of their surroundings mixed with how little sounds Tubbo could listen to other than distant screams of monsters made him fall into a rhythm. 

Tubbo sighed softly, watching the water he was holding slosh with every step he made. He really should put it away. 

He was about to slip his pack off when Dream stumbled to a halt. 

A jolt of panic made Tubbo almost drop the water as Dream grabbed his shoulder out of the blue, shaking him. Tubbo flinched, sudden nervousness making his shoulders fly to his ears. Was Dream mad at him? Had he done something? 

Then Dream pointed wildly, and Tubbo followed his finger out to the distance. 

“Look, look!” Dream squealed, “There it is!” 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

George stared up at the castles’ pillars, nervousness rooting him to the spot. He’d been there for fifteen minutes already, after trying to clean up as much as possible in the town surrounding it. 

Cleaning up was hard when he’d been running like a madman almost the entire way back. His legs felt like jelly and the wound in his arm burned, but he ignored it, trying to appear unfazed. 

He could do this. He’d be fine. 

He’d go in there, explain, and the king would understand. Yeah. 

George forced his hands not to shake as he walked forward, up towards the guards at the gate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really excited for the next chapter. >:)
> 
> Also, daily updates aren’t enough. I want to write something else too, cuz right now this is the only fanfic I’m working on. Do any of y’all have requests? Things for the DreamSMP that you’d like to see me write?


	22. Chapter 22

Antfrost wasn’t a loud person. 

It wasn’t that he was shy, or anything. He was just used to the quiet. He was used to being in his own head, to being able to whisper his thoughts aloud. 

When it came to conversation, well...

He didn’t really like it very much. It wasn’t that he hated talking to people, he just wasn’t used to it. He didn’t have much experience. 

He liked people. But he didn’t have many to talk to other than guards and the king. His father wasn’t really an option, anyway. With him he needed to be quiet, out of sight and out of mind. If he was loud, he was annoying. 

With the guards, it was the same. 

Except for one. 

Bad was always different. He was quieter too, but also could be squeaky and loud and happy. When they were alone he melted, he wasn’t a guard. He wasn’t rigid and stone cold. He was almost... a friend. 

Antfrost loved taking walks through the castles’ long halls, talking as Bad walked beside him. He’d loop through the library, through the kitchen, and eventually end up in the garden. 

The garden. 

It never failed to make him linger. He liked the atmosphere, liked the calm.

He’d made it his own personal mission to keep it healthy. To keep it just as pretty as the day Dream had run off. Some distant part of him hoped to see his brother in it again. 

He could remember chasing after him through the flowers, under trailing vines. Could remember laughing under his breath when Dream couldn’t find him, when he finally gave up. It was the only time they’d had together, hiding from guards and from their father. 

The garden held some of his favorite memories. 

Late nights staring at the stars after sneaking out of his chambers. Early mornings of relaxing, planting with Bad at his side. Afternoons where he ate underneath a tree, taking his food outside. 

He’d always find himself taking Bad there, even when it wasn’t planned. When he was at his happiest he’d just naturally find himself there. 

But he’d also go there when he was feeling sad. Overwhelmed. 

When Bad left, chasing after Dream, Antfrost found himself in the garden more often. 

He’d stared at the yellow flowers, the same kind he’d helped plant with Dream once upon a time. He’d stared at them and had almost cried, that first night after Bad left. 

His only friend, the person he’d started to actually feel comfortable with, was chasing his brother down. Chasing him down to bring him back dead. 

It’d been what felt like ages since then, and Antfrost was the quietest he’d been in a while. His new guards were easy to slip away from, not that he did that much anymore. He was more careful, now. But today felt different. 

Today his father had an audience with someone important. Or at least important enough for there to hardly be any notice. 

Antfrost was on his way back from the garden, alone, when he passed the throne room. 

Someone was pleading. Yelling. Their voice sounded desperate, and Antfrost faltered, curious. It was coming from the throne room, spilling out from the cracks under the door. 

Antfrost always had to pass the servants’ entryway into the throne room every time he walked back from the garden. It was a routine, one that he usually didn’t think much of. But now he was grateful, as he slowly snuck towards the door, that the guards didn’t really patrol nearby often. 

There were guards, knights, for this door, but they always slacked off. No one really knew about the door other than the servants, so what was the point of being vigilant? As long as they were at their station when the king was done they’d be fine. 

Antfrost never ratted them out. It was convenient. 

He carefully pulled the door open just a crack, promising himself that he’d only listen for a second before leaving. It was probably just a boring meeting with an ‘official’ anyway. 

“...Please, please, Your Majesty, I’ll do better this time—“ 

“Like you’ve done better every time I’ve given you another chance?” The kings’, his fathers’, voice boomed, and Antfrost almost flinched back. 

He sounded angry. 

“I’ve let you gather more and more men, and you’ve still failed every time,” his father growled, “At this point the neighboring kingdoms will see me as stupid and weak, going after my traitor of a son so often. If you’d succeeded it would’ve been a display of my power! Instead, you’ve made a fool of me.” 

Antfrost froze, heartbeat loud in his ears. Faintly he could hear someone, the hunter, sputter. Beg. But mostly all he could think of was that they’d failed. 

The mission had failed and Bad hadn’t returned which meant—

Without thinking Antfrost threw the door open and ran, not even bothering to close it behind him. He skidded to a stop in front of the throne, mind racing. His eyes locked on the hunters’ goggles, and he stumbled forward, ignoring the swords leveled at his head. 

“Is Bad dead?!” 

The hunter stared up at him mutely, and Antfrost wanted to shake him. Shake him until he told him that Bad was fine, he was okay, that he’d be coming soon—

“What’s the meaning of this, Antfrost?” 

Ant froze. He turned, slowly, to face the throne. His father was standing, guards leveling swords towards Ant protectively. They relaxed as they saw his face, swords lowering. 

His fathers’ face looked thunderous, and what he’d just done sunk in. Antfrost bowed shortly, anxiety swelling. 

He’d never done this before. He’d never made such a racket, had never interrupted his father. Scenarios raced through his mind, and he tried not to wince, hands clasped and back straight. 

“I’m sorry father, I just...,” he resisted the urge to glance at the hunter, “I need to know if Bad’s okay.” 

His father frowned, hand fiddling with the edge of his armor. Ant tensed every time his hand inched closer to his sheathed sword, absentminded and slow. 

“...Bad?”

“My personal guard, father.” 

His father waved a hand nonchalantly towards the hunter, raising an eyebrow. The hunter, the one Ant was pretty sure was named George from what Bad had told him once, jumped, straightening. 

“...He’s in the Nether, Your Highness,” he said, voice tense, “Along with my other hunter, and— and Dream.”

Antfrost froze. In the Nether? The Nether was dangerous. He’d never heard of the hunters ever going to the Nether in their search for Dream, it was unheard of. The fear of Bad being dead solidified and he bit his lip. 

He could see the way his fathers’ face darkened at Dream’s name, could see the way his hands shook minutely as he tapped at his chest-plate absentmindedly. He always did that when he was thinking, a quirk Dream used to do too. 

Antfrost could understand why his father would hate Dream, but he... he couldn’t believe his brother would do something like what he’d heard. He wouldn’t hate him, no matter how much pressure his father put on him. He loved both his brother and his father. 

(And his mother, but he hadn’t seen her in so long that she felt like a memory. Something of the past. It was strange to think she still lived in the castle, somewhere amidst all of the hallways and guards.) 

“So, you’ve come to me for reinforcements,” his father said, pulling him back to the present, “And I’ve said no. In fact. The missions off, you can go back to the other hunters and get reassigned.” 

The words, even though they weren’t directed at him, made Antfrost tense. Freeze. 

That... couldn’t be right. He... He wouldn’t...

George looked so distraught beside him, so upset. He was already a mess, with dirt in his hair and a bloody bandage wrapped around his arm, but now he looked like wreck. 

“What? Your Majesty, please,” George said, “They’ll all die, I can’t—“ 

His father, no, the king, waved a hand. George stopped mid-sentence, eyes wide. He looked pitiful. 

Despite being in the room, Antfrost felt like he was invisible as he watched the king motion for the guards. He watched as George fought back, screaming about someone named Sapnap. About Bad. 

Antfrost felt pathetic as he watched on the sidelines. As he watched George disappear, thrown out by knights, the large throne room doors slamming shut behind him. 

He was left alone with the king, his father. The silence was suffocating as the knights shifted back into place. Antfrost bowed his head out of habit, keeping his eyes trained on the pristine floor. 

He could hear his father shift from near the throne. 

“...I’m disappointed in you.” 

Antfrost winced, fidgeting. He was nervous and he was also terrified. Terrified of his friend dying, of being left in the castle with only a stoic guard for company. 

“I’m sorry, father,” he said, “But I’m not sorry for— for being upset. Please. Please, reconsider. Please send out more men. I—“ 

His father sank back onto his throne, the noise loud enough to make Antfrost falter. He’d never done this before. He’d never stood in front of the king, his father, and begged. 

He tried to ignore the knights that were staring at him, at the ready. The knights who would kick him out at a moments notice. 

“Antfrost,” his father said, and the tone was sickly sweet, “When you’re king, you’ll understand. But I must do what’s best for my image and the image of this kingdom. And right now doing what you want would be a fools errand.” 

Antfrost nodded mutely, even as he protested internally. Why couldn’t he just send men out without broadcasting it? It didn’t have to be that many! 

He grit his teeth, forcing himself to keep a bland stoic facade. He couldn’t talk back more than he already had. He couldn’t. 

“Now, I have another meeting soon,” his father said, “Don’t interrupt me again. I mean it.” 

Antfrost nodded again. Like a good obedient son. 

“You can leave.”

He turned on his heel and fled, trying not to seem hurried. Trying not to betray how anxious and angry and sad he was. 

He needed to be alone. He needed to think. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Antfrost wasn’t known for being a rebel. It was probably why, even after their conversation, his father never suspected he’d go against his wishes. Why he found it all too easy to sneak out, bag full of what he’d need thrown over his shoulder. 

He wasn’t seeking adventure, or adrenaline. He wasn’t doing this to be rebellious. 

His father was leaving Bad to die in the Nether. Bad, his only friend. 

Antfrost stalked through the hunters’ quarters, hood up and armor on. It wasn’t a good disguise, but he wasn’t planning on needing it for long. It wasn’t really a disguise anyway, he needed his status as a prince. 

He passed by young men and women, all of them with scars and swords. Some were playing with knives absentmindedly as they talked amongst themselves, as though it was as harmless as playing with a kitten. 

Antfrost stood out uncannily against the roughness and just sheer confidence of everyone around him. He hunched closer to himself as they stared, wishing his booted feet weren’t quite so loud. 

At least he knew where he was going. It hadn’t taken much snooping to figure out where George was. He was being reassigned, which meant extra training, which meant a certain wing. 

Antfrost stopped in his tracks in front of a door, one that led to sleeping quarters. He breathed evenly, trying to keep a level head. It was fine. 

The only reason he’d gotten so far was by using his status as a prince. If he’d been anyone else he’d have been dead in the first minute of trying to navigate this place. 

Antfrost lifted a hand to knock, ignoring the part of his brain that was screaming that he might have the wrong room. That he might be putting himself in danger. 

The door swung open only a moment after he knocked. 

George stared at him, eyes wide and mouth open. His hair was ruffled, uneven, and he looked like a mess. Like he hadn’t rested a bit since he’d gotten back to the castle to deliver the news. 

His mouth closed with a click, and he bowed shortly, before swinging the door open wide enough that Antfrost could see his quarters. It was barren, cold. An enchanted bed was wedged in the far corner, shimmering ever so slightly. 

“Hello, Your Highness,” George said, voice tense, “Do you need me for anything? Is there a mission?” 

Antfrost shook his head, small smile making its way to his face. 

“No,” he said, resisting the urge to shuffle nervously, “Well, yes. I’m here to help with your mission. The one where you save Bad.” 

George’s eyes widened, then he jumped forward, pulling Antfrost into his room and closing the door behind him with an almost silent click. 

He looked animated for the first time since Antfrost had seen him. But he was also shifting, reluctance in his gaze. 

“...Really?” he asked, “This isn’t some loyalty test or whatever?” 

Antfrost shook his head, determination swelling in his gut. He could do this. He wouldn’t be a pushover. 

“No,” he said, “My father is... wrong, to let my friend die. I won’t just sit back and wait. I’m going to help.” 

What he didn’t voice was that he wanted to see Dream again. He wanted to hear his side of the story. To laugh with him again. To hug him again. 

George nodded slowly, moving through the room. He grabbed at a worn pack, one that looked well used, and started to rummage through it. 

“Okay. Okay,” he said, sounding more like he was talking to himself than to Antfrost, “I can work with this. I can. It’s not a lot of backup but...” 

He paused. 

“No offense, Your Highness,” he said. 

Antfrost shrugged. He didn’t care. He knew he was only one person, prince or not. 

He wouldn’t be of too much help, but he’d try. He’d help George, and he wouldn’t look back. 

(Except he would look back, because his obedient life in the castle was all he could remember. Because the garden was there, holding memories upon memories. Because that was where he was safe, away from anxiety inducing eyes.) 

He smiled softly, watching as George threw things into a pack like a madman. 

He’d do this. Even if part of him was screaming that the crown prince shouldn’t be so disobedient. Even if part of him wondered if he’d ever be welcomed back. 

He’d do this for Bad. For Dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally putting that Antfrost character tag to good use. 
> 
> Also I wrote 6,000 words yesterday, and part of that was a one shot that’s from Tommy’s perspective! It’s canon to this fanfic, and takes place right after Tubbo dies. Super angsty. ;)


	23. Chapter 23

Bad winced as Sapnap tugged the fabric around his leg. Sapnap wasn’t even trying to be gentle, yanking so hard that he was pretty sure his leg was going to fall off. Despite his lack of care, he was taking his time, slowly wrapping the wound. 

Bad watched Sapnap grit his teeth, face twisted into his semipermanent scowl. 

“...You’re so...stupid.....ugh,” Sapnap grumbled under his breath, and Bad couldn’t help but snort. 

“This wasn’t my fault, you muffin.” 

And it wasn’t. He’d grown up with this drive to better himself, but most importantly to help others in the process. It was always there, influencing his entire life. It was what he’d been shaped by, helping others and getting help in return. How was he supposed to let Sapnap get injured when he was right there? When he could easily knock him out of the way? 

Sapnap looked at him like was crazy as he tied the fabric around his leg and stood, shuffling away from Bad like he couldn’t bear to be too close to him for too long. 

That was okay. He was used to it. And he probably wouldn’t want to be too close to someone who’d put a sword against his neck either. 

Bad cleared his throat awkwardly, carefully putting weight on his leg. The skin on the edges of the burn ached, pulled, but it didn’t hurt enough to stop moving. 

He had a bad feeling about this whole situation. From Sapnap’s reluctance, to Dream, to the kid... to George. 

“Hey, Sapnap?” 

Sapnap grunted, crossing his arms. He’d mellowed out just a bit in their travels, less likely to bite his head off. Instead it was a steady simmer, restrained frustration. Bad wondered how he could function like that. It must be exhausting. 

“What?” 

Bad stood, biting back a wince at the way his leg burned. He hopped gently, not about to ask for help from Sapnap. He knew what the answer would be. 

“Where do you think George is now?” 

Sapnap seemed taken aback at the question, as though he hadn’t expected it. He looked away, humming under his breath. 

“You care?”

Bad nodded. Of course he did. He hadn’t been around them for long, but both of the hunters seemed like fun people, if a bit loud. 

“He’s probably freaking out like he always does,” Sapnap said, snorting, “He’s either staying at the portal or going back for reinforcements or something. He doesn’t know when to quit...” 

“And you do?” 

Sapnap glared, bouncing forward into a steady gait. Bad was forced to follow, even though he was technically the guide. 

“I don’t know why I even told you that, it doesn’t matter,” Sapnap said, “You’re just going to run off and frolic in the lava with Dream or something once we get wherever we’re going. Then you’ll leave me to myself and I’ll go back to the king and beg to be reassigned.” 

He paused. 

“You better leave me alone, at least,” he said, eyeing Bad warily, “You’re not going to keep me... like a prisoner of war or somethin’?” 

Bad rolled his eyes, though his chest ached at the thought. It brought memories, that fear. 

“Of course not, never,” he said, “Besides, the wars been over for years.” 

Sapnap shrugged. 

“Yeah, well,” he said, “You never know. You Netherfolk could just pop up out of nowhere and start something again. Like before.” 

Bad tensed, stopping in his tracks. He could feel his hands clenching. He focused on breathing evenly, calmly. Sapnap was the explosive one, not him. 

He was injured. Sapnap still had his knives. He wasn’t the one in control. 

“That’s not— That’s not how the war started,” Bad growled through grit teeth, “Don’t talk about something you don’t know anything— anything about.” 

Sapnap whirled, snarling. 

“Don’t know anything about?” He said, “Don’t know anything about?! I’ve grown up surrounded by horror stories. People all around me withered away because of the war! I was left all alone! I bet you don’t know what that’s like—“

“I do!” Bad screamed. It was sudden and raw, and he could feel his cheeks burning red hot, like lava. 

Sapnap flinched back, hands flying towards his knives. Bad tried to breath, to keep calm. 

He was— He was good. It was okay. Sapnap didn’t know, of course he didn’t. 

Bad hissed through his teeth, grimacing at the way Sapnap stared at him. It was fearful, and confused, and everything he hated. 

“...I do,” Bad said, “I shouldn’t have made assumptions, but you shouldn’t either! You don’t know anything about me. Any. Thing.“ 

Bad watched as Sapnap stared at him, mouth slightly agape. He looked taken aback. Of course. He never would’ve expected Bad to defend himself. Of course not. 

Bad marched forward, ignoring the burning in his leg and the way he had to count internally just to breath. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

It was strangely empty. 

Tubbo had to remind himself to breath as Dream walked beside him, had to count internally. The heat was oppressive, constricting his lungs. He stared at their destination, mouth agape. 

Tubbo didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this. 

The Netherfolk settlement wasn’t a settlement. It was a fortress, large and towering. Lava bubbled beneath it, and Tubbo could make out monsters hovering over in the distance. It looked sturdy, with a great line of defense. Tubbo found himself analyzing it, scanning for weaknesses, for ways to use it to defend from unknown enemies. 

Dream was deathly quiet beside him. He’d been happy, loud and bright, when they’d first seen it in the distance. But then...

Then they’d gotten closer, and the emptiness had set in. Despite it being a fortress there were no guards to be seen. No yelling or talking or laughing. Just silence. 

They made it close enough to touch a wall, one that was smooth and impenetrable. Tubbo dragged a hand along the dark rocky material, flinching at how cold it was compared to the rest of the Nether. 

“....How are we going to get in?” 

His question seemed far too loud, but Tubbo forced himself to push away his unease. It was fine. 

Dream startled just a bit, as though he’d forgotten Tubbo existed. He tilted his head thoughtfully, scanning the fortress with fiery eyes. 

“...There’s a hollow window over there,” he said, pointing. 

Tubbo followed his finger and gaped. The window in question was high up, set into a wall that dropped away into lava. It’d take a crazy person to make it all the way up there. 

Dream didn’t hesitate. Tubbo watched, biting back a yelp, as he threw himself towards the wall. 

He hit the stone just beneath the window, feet scrambling. His hands dug into an invisible purchase, and Tubbo watched with bated breath as Dream hung in midair. Then he stabilized, somehow finding a perch just below the window. Dream disappeared inside, leaving Tubbo to stare. 

He’d just jumped over lava without a care in the world. 

Dream’s head peeked back out of the window and he threw his arms out, fingers splayed. 

“C’mon, jump,” he called, “I’ll catch you!” 

Tubbo stared at the lava. At the way the stable ground fell away, leaving death below. He’d died by fire before. He wondered how it would feel to die by lava, would the heat be just as intense? Worse? 

“You’ll be okay. Just trust me. And yourself of course, that’s a given—“ 

Tubbo didn’t allow himself to think, to overanalyze. He dug a foot into the dirt and pushed off. For a terrifying second he was suspended midair, the heat from the lava washing over his legs. 

Then he crashed against the wall, arms scrambling for purchase. His knee sent a shockwave of pain through him from where he’d slammed it against the stone, but he was too focused on not falling to care. 

Dream’s hands were there in the next second, roughly dragging him up against the stone until his hands wrapped around the edge of the window. He helped pull himself the rest of way through, relief almost blinding. 

Tubbo collapsed against the ground in a bundle of limbs, panting. Adrenaline enveloped him for a split second, before he breathed, trying to calm down. 

He sighed heavily, forcing himself to blink back the image of lava beneath him and hands without purchase. 

Tubbo stumbled to his feet, checking to make sure his pack was still firmly in place on his back. He’d be as good as dead if he ever lost it. He wasn’t made for living in such a harsh climate. It was his lifeline. 

He was about to ask Dream something when he bit it back, something within him forcing him to be quiet. To be cautious. 

The silence was back, thicker than ever. It felt alive, breathy and pulsing. Dream motioned for him to follow, and they started to walk through the empty hallway, slow and hesitant. 

There was something wrong with this place. 

Tubbo scanned his surroundings, catching glimpses of the sea of lava every few seconds through the narrow windows. 

He hadn’t seen a single Netherfolk since they’d crawled in through the window. It was empty, abandoned and hollow. The only sign of life was the occasional weapon strewn on the floor, or a glinting piece of gold in a far corner. 

Their footsteps felt far too loud in the winding corridors. 

Tubbo could feel invisible eyes on his back, and he threaded his fingers together nervously, eyes shifting. 

There should’ve been a bustling community. An entire group of people, living their lives happily hidden away. 

Instead there was suffocating silence and a sword thrown against a far wall. 

Dream looked shaken, disturbed. Nothing like how excited he was before. Tubbo watched his face as they turned a corner. Maybe he could do something to help—

Dream’s strangled gasp broke Tubbo out of his thoughts and he focused on his surroundings again. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Dream stumble backwards, hands flying to cover his mouth. 

The hallway had finally opened up into a room, one with tall walls and a hollow interior. It would’ve been fine, would’ve been the same as every other inch of the fortress that they’d walked through. 

It would’ve been the same, if it weren’t for the bodies crumbled against the remains of a Nether portal, their features distinctly Netherfolk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s never enough lore. >:)
> 
> Also Ranboob is in the SMP! I was watching the stream and I only might have screamed. Might have. It’s fuzzy. (he banned saying Ranboob at one point and I saw this one comment fly by that said Ranbreast and I’ll never forget that) 
> 
> My writer brain is exploding at the SMP lore implications of his existence.


	24. Chapter 24

Dream stared. 

He couldn’t— It... This wasn’t how— 

He could barely take it in, the corpses, the portal, the emptiness. 

He’d felt it, that growing dread, as he’d walked. He known, somewhere deep down he’d always known. The bodies shouldn’t be a surprise. 

He was always alone. He’s been foolish to think otherwise, to do dare to hope. To dare to want to find others like him. To find companionship. 

The bodies weren’t calm. They weren’t peaceful. Their faces were twisted in death, arms outstretched and mouths gaping. They were almost completely decomposed, missing eyes and fingers, with bone jutting out randomly. 

Dream had to choke down bile as he caught a glimpse of a child, dead in its mother’s arms. 

He felt rooted to the spot, unable to move. Unable to breath. It was like he’d been frozen, like something was pushing him under. If he dared to move he’d suffocate, he’d drown. He felt unsteady. 

Dream collapsed to the ground, legs giving out as he took everything in. It was all too much. He’d never seen death so close up before, he’d never been unfortunate enough to be a part of war. 

He could only blink. 

Someone shifted from beside him and Dream snapped out of his trance, looking up. He’d almost forgot about Tubbo in his terror. 

Tubbo was steady and stone cold. He wasn’t panicking. Wasn’t frozen. He hadn’t collapsed. He was merely taking everything in, neutral and analyzing. 

Something about his casual expression made Dream feel sick. More sick than he had felt when he first saw the death. The bodies. 

He watched, mind strangely blank, as Tubbo walked forward. He crouched in front of one of the corpses, one of the ones closest to the entrance, and reached forward. 

Dream wanted to cry out in disgust, but all he could manage was a shudder. He couldn’t do anything but watch as Tubbo examined the body with all of the professional air of someone far too used to death. 

Of someone hiding their true feelings behind a mask. 

“...There’s a stab wound,” Tubbo’s voice sounded far too loud in the tomb of a room, “And... judging— judging by how decomposed the bodies are they’ve been here for years.” 

Dream didn’t know how to answer. He couldn’t say anything, head spinning. 

There was just too much. 

The promise of finding companionship, snatched away once again. The promise of a home, somewhere steady and free. Gone. The way Tubbo looked only slightly disturbed. The way he seemed more unnerved by Dream’s reaction than by anything else. 

Dream’s seen death. Of course he has. He’s watched. Stared George straight in his eyes as he stabbed through his chest. Laughed as Sapnap tripped and died from falling down a ravine. 

But that wasn’t permanent. There wasn’t any blood, they just disappeared. 

These bodies were all too real. These bodies held stories, had once held souls. 

Tubbo was walking over to him, concern twisting his face into something far too unnerving. It felt wrong, perverted, for him to be showing more emotion towards Dream than towards the death. Dream’s breath hitched and he bit his lip, reminding himself he was okay. It was fine. 

“How do you know?” He choked out, voice strangled. 

Tubbo blinked. 

“Know what?” 

Dream shook his head, trying to clear away his thoughts. 

“How do you know how long—?”

Tubbo’s eyes widened and he nodded slowly, eyes shifting. He looked uncomfortable, nervous. 

Dream thought he should’ve looked like that sooner. 

“I like knowing random stuff,” Tubbo said, “...And it felt relevant at the time. Never truly needed it until now, I think.” 

Tubbo looked back towards the bones, the corpses, the bodies and shivered minutely. 

“...It’s really disturbing,” Tubbo murmured. 

It was. Of course it was. How could it not be? 

Dream wanted to shake him, to make him start acting like a normal teen for once. To make him look at the bodies and feel just as disgusted as Dream did. 

Instead Tubbo just sat next to him, smoothly and calmly. Though Dream thought he could see his hands shake as he clasped them together in his lap. 

For a moment they just sat there, Dream shaky breathing the only thing filling the silence. 

He’d made up horror stories as he’d walked through the Nether. Most of them involved the hunters. Or Tubbo dying. Some were even of him dying, unable to get to Tubbo in time, unable to move— 

He’d made up horror stories. But he’d never once considered something like this. 

The smell of death was overwhelming and Dream choked, refusing to breath. He hated it. He hated it so much, he hated it, he hated it—

He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to look. He felt like a little kid, pretending the monsters couldn’t get to him if he couldn’t see them. 

Then a hand touched his shoulder and he flinched away, peeling an eye open. 

Tubbo was hovering nearby, crouched in front of him. He looked concerned, face pinched. 

“C’mon, we need to leave this room, okay?” Tubbo said, voice low, “It’ll be better for you, I reckon.” 

Dream nodded absentmindedly, not truly paying attention to his movements. He didn’t want to think, not at the moment. It hurt. 

He allowed Tubbo to pull him up onto his feet. Dream followed him back into the hollow hallway, footsteps echoing rhythmically. 

Then he slid to the ground again, Tubbo sitting beside him. And breathed. 

He breathed, and remembered. 

He remembered the stories his mother used to tell, of a community who’d struggled but survived. Of a homely place that any Netherfolk could go to and feel safe. 

It felt like a massive lie. 

And even if it wasn’t, what had happened since she’d last been there that had changed everything so drastically? Even without the... death, the fortress wasn’t exactly a ‘homely settlement’. 

Dream breathed through his mouth, trying not to smell the rot, the death. All he managed to do was taste it on his tongue and he gagged, wishing he didn’t need to breathe. 

Tubbo was leaning against his side, head slowly drooping onto his shoulder. He didn’t look tired, but Dream understood. 

Even if Tubbo was scarily calm, it had to a mask. It had to be. 

They sat there for a moment, silent. Dream focused on trying to calm down, on counting between breaths and focusing on the way Tubbo was practically laying down on top of him. 

Despite him encroaching on his personal space, Dream appreciated it. It was strangely comforting, having someone touching him. Reminding him he wasn’t alone. 

“....What happened to them?” 

Tubbo’s voice was soft, but the question felt as sharp as a knife. Dream sighed softly in an effort to breath. 

“I... I don’t know,” Dream said, trying not to visualize it, “But it... it was obviously from an attack.” 

And it was. The skeletons, the bodies, were terrified even in death. They were collapsed on the ground as though they’d been cut down while running. Fleeing. 

Dream felt the panic swelling in his throat again. He grabbed at Tubbo’s hand, rubbing methodical circles in an effort to remember. 

He wasn’t alone. He wasn’t alone. He was okay. 

Tubbo responded, tightening his grip. He seemed to understand. 

“...Is this... the first time you’ve seen something like this?” Tubbo asked, tentative. 

Dream snorted weakly. 

“Of course,” he said, “I wasn’t even allowed out of my... house, until the whole hunter thing started.” 

Tubbo was silent for a long moment. 

“...Well, um, you’re doing great. You’re okay.” 

Dream nodded. He was. He was okay. 

(Except he wasn’t, how was he when every time he tried to find someone that understood they were snatched away, he could never find companionship, never, never—) 

He tightened his hold on Tubbo’s hand. 

“Where do we go from here?” Dream asked, begged, “I don’t— I didn’t really have a plan, and this so messed up. I don’t... I don’t—“ 

Tubbo cut him off with a squeeze of his hand, shifting from beside him. For a moment the heavy silence was all Dream could hear. The silence that meant... 

“...I don’t know, Dream,” Tubbo whispered, “I don’t know.” 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/—/-/-/

Bad hadn’t been to the settlement in so long he could hardly remember what it looked like. (He could remember the settlement evolving, though, slowly but surely turning into a fortress prepped for war, just like the hearts of his people.) 

He couldn’t remember, but he had a vague idea of what might have happened. An idea that he didn’t want to believe. An idea he didn’t tell Sapnap. Some part of him deep down was in denial. Wanted to believe it stayed hidden away. Safe. 

He knew it was unlikely. But he had to hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter, sorry about that. My families setting up Christmas decor today, so it’s taking up a ton of my time.


	25. Chapter 25

Tubbo hadn’t truly seen death, back in L’Manberg. 

He’d been in war after war, sure, but everyone had had beds. No one truly died. Some part of him deep down, during the beginning, hadn’t even taken the war seriously. After all, what could go wrong if you could never die? 

But he’d learned. 

He’d learned that there were horrors of war not limited to death. 

There was something interesting about respawning. If you were wounded, cut open or burned or hit, you wouldn’t die. Even if you didn’t have a bed you wouldn’t die, so why would you in that moment? 

So Dream had gotten creative. 

The Dream of his world had been ruthless and cunning. When he did speak it was with lilting awkwardness that felt fake. 

And he loved chaos. War. Bloodshed. 

Tubbo had seen so much blood, within the wars. Gore from explosions, the tnt coming from beneath L’Manberg. Deep gashes in his comrades’ sides that didn’t go away. Never did, unless they eventually respawned from blood loss. 

So maybe that was why, when he saw the death. The bodies strewn across the floor, he hadn’t felt much. 

He’d locked it away. Hidden the key. 

Feeling anything in that moment would be bad. It would hurt, wouldn’t help anyone.

He hadn’t seen death, so even though he’d seen gore, even though he could ignore violence, the bodies felt different. Worse. They were evidence of what actually happened after death. 

They were terrifying. 

He felt strangely numb. 

He leaned against Dream’s side, feeling the way he shuddered against him minutely. 

It felt strange, seeing someone actually react to something like this. Everyone around him back in L’Manberg had been just like him. Used to the blood, the gore. They wouldn’t have collapsed. 

They wouldn’t be clinging to his hand like it was a lifeline, pale and shivering. 

When he’d first realized that he was in an entirely different world he’d been too shellshocked to care about its history. To care about what might be different, other than the fact his friends didn’t exist. (Or worse, they did, but they were different.) 

Eventually, though, he’d learned. He hadn’t paid much mind to the details, but he’d still noticed them. The subtle signs of a past war. 

He knew those signs far too well. 

He hadn’t lingered on them. Hadn’t wanted to. If he was in an entirely different world he wanted to at least leave war behind him. That was the only good part of it all. 

But now he felt almost... mad at himself, underneath the numbness. 

How could he pretend that a past war didn’t exist when it still affected so much? So many people, so many different landscapes. 

Tubbo felt the way Dream shuddered against him and felt mad. 

Mad at the way he was being reminded of war. Mad at the way this strangely nice, strangely naive Dream couldn’t live without seeing at least the aftermath. Couldn’t stay happy and hopeful. 

Tubbo tightened his hold of Dream’s hand, leaning against him. They sat there, blinking back the image of skeletons. Of rotting bodies. 

He hummed softly under his breath, trying to give Dream something to focus on other than the images. 

Tommy used to do that, back in L’Manberg. After skirmishes, wars, he’d drag Tubbo to their bench and throw his disk into their music player. He’d laugh obnoxiously loud, reminiscing about what had happened in a way that separated them from the actual events. 

And it all had helped Tubbo stop shivering, to stop staring at his clean hands, expecting blood. It helped enough that he’d eventually return the favor, laughing and bantering. 

Tubbo hummed a tune under his breath, nonsensical notes that didn’t mean anything. He watched Dream’s eyes close slowly. He looked weary. 

He could tell Dream wasn’t tired. But he was closing his eyes anyway, in an attempt to escape. 

Tubbo shifted closer, and waited. 

He waited, waited for so long that his legs started to feel numb against the stone. Long enough that he had to shift, knocking Dream out of his haze momentarily, in order to grab a drink. 

He settled in, and allowed himself some time to wait. And then, afterwards, they’d figure out what to do. 

Where to go from here. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

It seemed like ages, eons, before something happened. 

Dream was still unresponsive. Cold. He was still squeezing his hand in a vice-like grip, though, so that had to count for something. 

A noise echoed hollowly through the hallway and Tubbo tensed, sitting up. 

Something, someone, was nearby. 

Images of whatever might have killed the Netherfolk so long ago flashed through Tubbo’s mind. He whirled towards Dream, tense. 

Dream was stiff, alert. His eyes were wide, and he seemed to hunch further into himself. 

Then, like a switch was flipped, his face evened out and he stood fluidly. 

He didn’t look calm, not quite. He looked like the kind of calm a predator might wear, a mask that barely hid his anticipation. His hands were tense, gravitating towards his sword. 

“Something’s here,” he said, in low tones that made Tubbo shiver. 

These were the tones that Tubbo remembered from the other Dream. The tones of someone on the hunt. 

Tubbo stood, grabbing at Dream’s wrist. The noises were getting louder, and they were coming from the hallway on the other side of the room. The room with the bodies. 

The floor plan of this place was weird. Back when he’d first seen the room, before he’d realized what it held, he’d noticed another entrance on the opposite side. It was as if the room was made for large bodies of people to be able to go in and out of it at once. 

Someone could enter the fortress from the opposite side and still wind up in the room. 

Tubbo shook himself off, tugging at Dream’s wrist. 

“We’re hidden here,” Tubbo whispered, “Let’s stay hidden in the hallway, and when whatever it is goes inside the room we can take them out.” 

Dream faltered for a moment at the thought of going near the room again, eyes wide. For a moment he looked lost again. Scared. Then the mask slipped on again and he grinned sharply, drawing his sword. 

Tubbo hesitated for only a moment before drawing his own, wincing at the sound. He could only hope whatever was coming was too occupied to hear them. 

Dream gestured for him to follow, and Tubbo complied, inching towards the wide entryway. He positioned himself behind Dream, even though he desperately wished he could be the one watching the doorway. 

He didn’t want Dream to have to look back inside of the room, but he wasn’t budging. And fighting him would just cause too much noise. 

They stood there, leaning against the stone wall, for tense seconds. The sounds were getting louder and louder, and Tubbo found his breath evening. 

He fell back into old instincts, breathing shallowly and moving fluidly. He bounced ever so slightly, loosening. He couldn’t be too tense. 

He watched Dream’s shoulders grow tenser with every second that passed. 

The sounds fell away for a moment before they grew louder than ever and Tubbo hissed a breath through his teeth. 

It was voices. 

Voices that were far too familiar. 

Dream may not recognize them from such a distance, but Tubbo knew. He’d learned to listen for voices like theirs. Bad’s was distinctive, higher and bit more nasally. 

It was Sapnap’s that forced him to remind himself to be calm. Fluid. 

Sapnap shouldn’t be here. If it was just Bad that’d be scary, sure, but probably fine in the long run. 

But Sapnap. 

Sapnap should be...

Dead. 

His last snapshot of him was when Bad held a sword to his neck, his eyes wide and his knives in the dirt. It’d take only one motion to end it. 

Tubbo shook himself off. His chest ached even as the hunters grew ever closer, close enough to distinguish their words. At this point Dream had recognized them too, judging by the way his sword had dropped momentarily. 

(This Dream was a beast at fighting, from what little Tubbo had seen against mobs, but he lacked experience. That instinct that kept you on your toes. That was another difference that Tubbo held close. To remember.) 

“...I’m getting outta here at the first opportunity—“ 

“I know that you muffin, I’m just trying to—“ 

“You’re just trying to kidnap me,” Sapnap’s voice cried, indignant, “As if a Netherfolk would have me in their clutches and then just leave me alone.” 

“...Ugh! We’ve... we’ve gone... over.... this.” 

Tubbo could tell the exact moment they rounded the corner and walked into the room. 

Bad’s voice wavered dangerously and then fell away, leaving a terrifying silence behind. 

There was a beat. 

Then Tubbo watched as Dream lunged around the corner, sword at the ready. He hurried to follow suit, falling into step beside him as easily as breathing. 

They never attacked. 

Bad was frozen in a mockery of how Dream had been minutes, hours, days before (Tubbo couldn’t tell how long it’d been) when he first saw the remains. His eyes, glowing red eyes oh so similar to Dream’s, were blown wide, and he took a step back. 

He looked wrecked. Almost... heartbroken. He swayed slightly, just for a moment, before Tubbo watched as he steadied himself. He blinked rapidly, eyes wet. 

Then he glanced at them, at the way their swords were pointed straight at him, and tensed. 

The silence was intense, all encompassing. Tubbo glanced at Dream, flinching at the way he was glaring. He looked fragile, like if he didn’t glare, didn’t act tough, that he’d crumble again. 

Tubbo wished they weren’t doing this. 

Then a someone let out a strangled cry, and Tubbo whipped back into position, scolding himself for losing focus. 

He faltered, sword wavering only the slightest bit. 

Sapnap looked as white as a sheet. He was staring at the bodies, at the way they laid about the room, like trophies of battle. 

He stumbled backwards, bumping into Bad’s shoulder. He was shaking just slightly. 

He look shellshocked, like his feet had been knocked out from under him. 

“...What?” He murmured, loud in the otherwise silent room, “This isn’t— This shouldn’t be... This isn’t right— I don’t...” 

Then he bit his lip. Grit his teeth. And his face fell into a wavering frown, more like a grimace than anything. 

“No,” he whined lowly, “No, no, no. This isn’t— What...? No.” 

Tubbo watched as Bad grabbed his shoulder in an attempt at comfort. Watched as Sapnap pulled away immediately, shuffling away. 

“What— What happened here?” Sapnap asked, sounding more like he didn’t want an answer than anything. 

Tubbo glanced over at Dream, who was just as frozen as before. His sword hadn’t wavered, despite everything, and he practically looked like he was in pain. 

Tubbo had an idea of what had happened. A general idea. It was obvious, if you cared to look. 

But he didn’t know how Sapnap would react.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I left for one gosh-diddly-darn day and you guys made me pass two thousand kudos. Um. Thank you. 
> 
> By the way, about my writing style. If you haven’t noticed, I don’t swear. It’s a personal choice and I don’t care about other people swearing of course. I just grew up around an environment that was pretty strict so now I feel awkward when I swear at all. The reason I’m saying this is because Bbh’s ‘language’ line is really hard to incorporate into a story that doesn’t include language. Just keep that in mind please! <3 
> 
> Also, next chapter is from our favorite Samsung Refrigerator’s perspective! :)


	26. Chapter 26

The first time Sapnap heard of the Netherfolk he was huddled in an alleyway, back against a stone wall. He’d been eight and alone and already so angry at the world that he wouldn’t hesitate to tackle someone if they got too close. 

But there was this one kid, who was like him. This one kid that was old enough that Sapnap had learned to begrudgingly respect him. 

And one night he’d scrambled into the alleyway, a sharp grin on his face and enough food for five people cradled in his arms. 

Sapnap had stood, shivering from hunger pangs, and had begged him to share. 

Somehow, he had. He hadn’t even made him grovel for it, like some would. He hadn’t taunted him, or laughed as he stared. Instead, he’d handed the food over with a small smile, far too kind. 

Then he sat down next to him and started to tell him the story of how he’d gotten the food. 

“There was an execution, y’know, the ones for those weird creatures?” The boy had said in between mouthfuls, “Yeah. People are stupid ‘round that time cuz they get all entranced or whatever. They go watch. Then the marketplace is more empty than usual. That’s when ya strike, Lil Sap.” 

Sapnap had been curious. Anything that made getting food easier was something worth talking to someone about. 

He’d perked up, hiding his excitement with a small frown. 

“Execution?” He’d asked, “...And don’t call me that.” 

The boy had snorted around a mouthful of bread, rolling his eyes. He wasn’t clean at all, but he didn’t care. And Sapnap hadn’t either, in that moment. He hadn’t even noticed, really. 

“Yeah,” the boy had said, “Once in a while they find one ‘a those devil things and cut ‘em up in front ‘a everyone. As a way to make em feel safe after the war, I guess.” 

Sapnap had known about the war, even back then. People were strangely close knit, at least the ones with money. They helped each other out, in a scared haze. But if it actually came down to it they would board themselves up and never help a soul. 

The kindness during wartime felt fake, even when it was real. Even when someone genuinely wanted to help, it was just like the others. 

So Sapnap had known about the war. He’d seen teens come back from training, walking past the alleyways. He’d seen families crying when someone never came back. 

But he’d never heard of these ‘devils’. 

“Whatcha mean?” He’d asked, “What devils?” 

The boy had looked at him like he was crazy, eyes wide. He’d scarfed down another piece of bread in the time it’d taken Sapnap to ask his question, and he took a moment to swallow before answering. 

“Why, the things that we’re killin’ in the war ‘a course,” he’d said, incredulous, “The things that were tryin’ to invade us. And steal our kids and whatever else. I heard they’re made ‘a fire, and that they can melt ya real good if ya try to fight em. That’s why they’re beheaded when executed. Don’t have to touch em too much.” 

Then he’d leaned forward like he was telling a secret, eyes narrowed. 

“They’re called Netherfolk.” 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Sapnap stared at the bodies, stomach churning. He felt sick, sick and achy and horrid. He felt like the world had dropped out from underneath him, like the pillar he’d been using to support everything was crumbling down. 

They were Netherfolk. Even though most were decayed enough to be classified as skeletons, somehow he knew. He could tell. 

Sapnap glanced at the kid, eyes wide. 

The kid was watching him with scarily calm eyes. They were wide with pity... with something else. 

Sapnap could feel that all too familiar anger rise within him the longer he watched the kid stare at him. He wasn’t something to watch like a performance. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t. 

He wasn’t—

He wasn’t okay. 

How could he be, when he’d walked in on this? 

The anger vanished as soon as he caught another glimpse, and he backed up another step. Everyone else was silent, watching him. It was suffocating, and he wanted out. 

He wanted out, where he wouldn’t have to look at evidence of a war he’d never truly thought about. 

He’d thought about the war a lot, of course. Of course he had. But... It was always from his kingdom’s side. He’d never... he’d never thought about the Netherfolk at all. 

They were supposed to have an entire army’s worth down here. They were supposed to be terrifying, ready to cut down anyone who was unfortunate enough to stumble upon them. 

They weren’t supposed to be dead. 

There were some skeletons, some bodies, that were too small to be adults. That were so small that it reminded him of when he found a kid slumped against an alley wall in winter, unresponsive and as cold as the weather. 

Sapnap strangled a cry, swallowing it. He wouldn’t— He wouldn’t be weak, here. He was fine. 

He was fine. 

“What— What happened here?” He asked again, voice annoyingly faint. 

Some distant part of him knew already. Knew what horrors could happen in war. But the rest of him, the part of him that was stubborn to a fault, wanted it to be something else. Wished for it desperately. 

He didn’t want to start feeling guilty about how he’d treated Bad. He didn’t like changing his mind. 

(Except he already had been feeling guilty, hadn’t he? Just a bit. He couldn’t help but wince when Bad sighed in that resigned way of his, or shut up when Bad started to close himself off.) 

He glanced at Bad. 

Bad’s face was grim. He looked... resigned and angry and terrified and sad all at once. He looked unsteady, and if Sapnap was a better person he might have offered to help him. 

Instead, he turned back to the kid, to Dream, waiting for an answer. 

The kid glanced up at Dream for a moment, wary. When Dream did nothing but stare at Sapnap with his unnervingly bright eyes he sighed, turning back to him. 

“I think you know,” he said, far too gentle, “There’s a portal here, broken. Entrances on both sides so that lots of people can get in. Tons of dead Netherfolk but no dead soldiers, even though it’s in their land...” 

Sapnap bit his lip, dreading the next words with such a ferocity that his head felt light. 

“...It was most likely an ambush. Sent to kill of as many Netherfolk as they could before the Netherfolk could go through the portal.” 

Sapnap’s chest tightened and he shook his head, allowing some of his rage to resurface. He clenched his fists, refusing to look at Bad, who was scarily silent. 

“Yeah, well,” Sapnap said, “Maybe the soldiers were sent because we didn’t want tons of barbarians and devils or whatever to invade our land!” 

Sapnap could barely finish his sentence before he felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him to the side. He tensed, hands flying for his knives, but someone grabbed at his wrists, effectively immobilizing him. 

He was about to kick, to squirm free, when he made the mistake of staring into Bad’s eyes. 

They were angry, bleeding red. They looked more like lava than ever, oranges and reds glowing fiercely. 

Bad snarled, something low and angry and slightly terrifying, before his face melted. 

Sapnap yelped, trying to thrash out of Bad’s grip, but his hands were immovable. 

Bad’s face shifted slowly, turning more and more red until his skin was as patchwork as the red dirt that the Nether was known for. His eyes looked much more fitting, on such a red face, blending in seamlessly. 

He blinked, grinning sharply. 

He looked just like the devils people had whispered to Sapnap about during long nights, ranting about how it was their fault that their fathers died, or that they’d lost their job. They were the source of his kingdoms’ misery, and he was staring one straight in the eyes. 

But he was also standing amongst the bodies of too many to count. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Bad stared into Sapnap’s eyes, fury a whirlwind underneath his skin. It was red hot, burning him from the inside out. 

He’d shifted into his Nether colors for the first time in years. But it was worth it, seeing the fear in Sapnap’s face. 

He needed to understand. 

“We didn’t invade your land for the fun of it,” he snarled, “We didn’t start a war.” 

Sapnap stared into his eyes, stricken. Good. 

Distantly, he thought he could hear Dream and his companion walk a bit closer, but he didn’t care. 

What he did care about, was beating sense into Sapnap’s skull. He’d liked him, for the time before he’d learned about him being Netherfolk. But he was a product of his environment, and he needed to learn. 

Bad didn’t get mad often. But hearing the nonsense Sapnap spewed like fact, the misinformation that demonized his people. Well. 

Bad grit his teeth. 

“Haven’t you noticed how barren the Nether is?” He asked, not expecting an answer, “It’s been like that for ages. My people need to eat too. We can’t survive off of the few mushrooms that have somehow managed to survive. We were dying out.” 

Sapnap’s eyes widened and Bad nodded. Yes. 

He’d grown up through it, the famine. He’d seen parents give up what little food they had so that their children would survive, eventually dying in the process. He’d seen people come back from gathering food, dejected and trying to hide their hopelessness. 

It was the Nether way of life. 

But some had chosen another way. 

Bad clenched his hands around Sapnap’s wrists, willing him to understand. 

“We wanted to live,” he whispered, “So some fled through portals. Until your king—“ 

He spat the word like it was poison. 

“—found out what was happening. And he ordered for all portals to be destroyed.” 

Bad clammed up, suddenly nauseous. He didn’t want to relive this. Never. He’d pushed it behind him, had moved on as much as one could from something like that. 

He let go of Sapnap’s wrists, watching as he stumbled backward, eyes wide. He looked just as nauseous as Bad felt, shaking his head. Then he bit his lip. Turned. 

And ran out of the room, shaky and almost tripping. 

Bad let him go. He wouldn’t go far anyway, and he just... didn’t have the energy to put up with him. He sighed deeply. 

He felt like collapsing, like falling asleep. Maybe when he woke up he’d feel better, less gross. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, wavering. 

Someone made a noise and he jumped, suddenly reminded that there had been an audience. That other people had been here, watching him snap. 

He turned, suddenly sheepish. 

The kid looked understanding, like he’d expected it. Like he’d taken one look at the death and had reasoned that something similar must have happened. It made Bad uneasy, and he looked away as soon as possible, glancing at Dream instead.

Dream, who was Netherborn, like him. Dream, who looked white as a sheet, sword drooping in his hands. Dream, who was shaking, eyes wide and tears visible even past the glow of his eyes. 

“...So that’s what happened...” 

The words were soft, almost nonexistent. And they broke Bad’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, hey! I’ve written another thing that’s canon to this fic! It’s a snippet of Ant and Dream’s childhood, hanging out in the garden. Thought y’all could use some fluff after... um. This, lol. 
> 
> I’ve been writing so much lately that even my own sister called me a speed demon. I don’t know how to feel about that.


	27. Chapter 27

George hadn’t really known what it’d be like, traveling with a prince. At first he hadn’t cared, too focused on leaving and just... getting there. 

But once they’d fallen into the rhythm of travel, once they’d fallen into that silence, he’d started to wonder. 

Had Antfrost ever left the kingdom? Had he ever left the main town, the one that wrapped around his castle? It seemed unlikely, but then again... he was the crown prince. And they sometimes traveled between kingdoms. 

He didn’t know how to ask the question, though, so he stayed quiet. 

Traveling with Antfrost proved to be the opposite of traveling with Sapnap. With Sapnap there was hardly ever any silence unless they were close to the target, banter filling the air. With Sapnap they could feel comfortable around each other, could fall into a routine. 

Antfrost was silent and closed off. He wasn’t scary... but there was a bridge George knew he shouldn’t cross. 

He found himself missing Sapnap more and more with every day of travel. Even though his friend could be over the top sometimes, could be angry and violent and harsh...

He was the only family he’d ever truly known. The only family he’d ever cared about. For as long as he could remember they’d been side be side, through thick and thin. 

They’d planned to be hunters together, had fulfilled that dream together. And now that dream was pulling them apart. 

George stared at the compass in his hands, resigned. He’d made one when he first got back to his room in the hunters’ quarters, desperate and sad. It was tuned to Sapnap, held something of his deep inside its magic. 

He hadn’t tuned it to Dream, even though Sapnap probably would’ve wanted him to. Sapnap had taken the compass with him into the Nether, a place where it was useless. He would’ve wanted George to make another. But...

In the long run George didn’t care about Dream. He cared about his friend. 

Antfrost hadn’t objected, when George had told him. He’d been even quieter than usual afterwards, though, and George was pretty sure he was sulking. 

Ant didn’t care about Sapnap, after all. He was here for Dream. For Bad. 

George pocketed the compass, glancing at Antfrost. He was trudging along beside him, hunched over and sweating. 

Ant wasn’t used to walking for so long, but George refused to go slower, despite the guilt he felt every time he caught Ant panting. They didn’t have time for the prince to get used to anything. 

For another long moment they stayed surrounded by silence, only the sound of their footsteps and Ant’s heavy breathing filling the forest. Distantly, George thought he could hear birds singing, chirping softly. 

“...Would you kill Dream, if you caught him?” 

The question came out of nowhere, and George almost tripped. He clenched his hands around the front of his shirt, nerves making him avoid Antfrost’s eyes. Avoid looking at Ant in general. 

“...I don’t want to,” he said, after a moment of hesitation, “I’ve never wanted to kill anyone. I just... If he fought me, then yes. I guess I would, in self defense. Or in a high stress situation.” 

Ant seemed to take that in for a moment, silent. Then he walked a bit closer to George, making him tense. 

George glanced at Antfrost, watching as he smiled softly. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, “I’m glad. I mean... I know you just said you’d kill him in certain situations, but... That’s better than nothing. Some people just want him dead in general and...” 

He paused. 

“...And I don’t know, I just... I still love him, he’s my brother and I don’t want him to die. He didn’t even do something that bad. Well, I mean, killing people is bad but... the reason was fine in my eyes. Maybe it shouldn’t be fine, it’s kinda messed up. ...Why am I telling you this? I’m sorry.” 

George shook his head. 

“No, no,” he said, “It’s fine. If Sapnap was suddenly one of my targets I’d feel the same way. Maybe even Bad, but I don’t know him that well.” 

George perked up, turning towards Ant just slightly. 

“What’s Bad like?” He asked, “I only talked to him a bit before everything went down. He seemed nice.” 

Antfrost hesitated for a moment, turning away. For a moment George thought he wouldn’t answer and that they’d fall back into awkward silence.

Then he glanced back at George, biting his lip. 

“Bad was... is, really nice,” Ant said, “He feels like a sort of... calming presence, you know? Just overall cheerful and kind. I... I really—“ 

Just then George felt something move in his pocket and he flinched, hand tugging the compass out. 

He stared, eyes wide. His chest felt light, and an overwhelming happiness, giddiness, took over. He stopped walking, tugging at Antfrost’s sleeve. 

“Ant!” He cried, grinning, “They’re out of the Nether!” 

He turned the compass, the compass with a moving needle, towards Antfrost, relishing in the way his eyes widened. In the way he smiled hesitantly, hope flashing through his eyes. 

“...We can meet up with them.” 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

There was another portal. 

Sapnap heaved in a breath, head light. The heat was getting to him, and he felt loopy. Dizzy. He hadn’t drank any water in far too long, and after the confrontation... Well, he hadn’t thought to. 

The portal was wedged in the back of a hallway, the hallway that he’d run into to escape. 

Instead he’d found another piece of evidence towards what Bad had told him. 

Sapnap snarled, rage bubbling under his skin. 

He wanted to find Dream. To grab him and drag him back to the Overworld. That’d solve all of his problems, bringing him back with or without the kid. 

(It wouldn’t, but he ignored the bit of doubt. He ignored the guilt.) 

Instead he stared at the portal, frantic. He dragged his hand across the obsidian. It was only chipped, not fully broken, unlike the portal in the... the room. 

Sapnap blinked back an image of Netherfolk being cut down. Blinked back Bad’s devastated face. 

He searched the ground, hands scrambling against the stone floor. 

His fingers hit something and he grinned, grabbing it. He held it up to the low light of distant lava. It was the piece of obsidian, the piece that had been broken off. 

He slipped it into place in the portal with more force than necessary, too busy to care. It clinked, snapped, and something hummed. Good. 

Sapnap didn’t have anything to start a fire with. He faltered. 

Rage started to build, to overcome, but he took a deep breath. It was okay. It wasn’t over, he could do this. He could leave this... this mess of a group behind. 

The portal didn’t truly need fire, it needed heat, friction. 

Sapnap slipped a knife into his hand in a practiced motion. It fit in his palm comfortably, calming. 

He crouched in front of the portal and dragged the knife down the obsidian. Then he pushed it forward. And again. And again. 

The friction made his wrist hurt, made the knife chip, but he ignored it. He needed out, he needed out, he needed out. 

He couldn’t be here. He’d be a prisoner, an outlier. The strange one, the feral one that had to be reigned in. 

He wanted to see George. He needed—

The portal’s magic swelled, his knife sparked, and purple filled his vision. 

Sapnap didn’t hesitate. Didn’t wait. He lunged, tumbling through the portal, back into the blessedly cool air of the Overworld. 

Dizziness doubled for a split second before he realigned, resurfaced. He gasped in a beautifully clear mouthful of air, giddy. 

Sapnap blinked back purple stars from his vision, watching as sky and grass slowly focused. He shivered from his position on the ground, not used to the cooler air. 

But his head felt clearer than it had in ages, and he couldn’t stop himself from giggling softly under his breath. 

He was free. He could go back to the king. Tell him what happened. Get reassigned. 

(A part of him screamed at the thought of giving up, of letting an opportunity go to waste. The rest of him remembered the feeling of Bad’s hands around his wrists, remembered the evidence of war.) 

He dragged himself up to his feet and took in his surroundings. 

The feeling of giddiness dimmed. Washed away. 

He was on the outskirts of a village. A village that felt far too empty. Too suffocating. He couldn’t see any animals, any villagers. 

Sapnap stumbled towards it on unsteady feet, frowning. 

Where was he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today, sorry about that. 
> 
> Also! Something important. I’m going to start updating a bit more infrequently. I liked updating daily, but honestly I have a lot going on and it’s really starting to stress me out. Soooo expect a chapter every other day or maybe a bit less. I’m super sorry about that, but it’ll give me a chance to work harder on each chapter, anyway.


	28. Chapter 28

Sapnap had no idea where he was. The village was hidden, alone. Isolated. 

And he was just as alone. 

There weren’t any villagers. Any travelers. Traders. Only empty houses and ghosts of past activity. 

Sapnap wanted to run back to the castle right away. He wanted to race up to the throne and beg. Beg for a different mission. Put everything behind him. 

He didn’t like it. He hated failing, giving up. 

But. 

The thought of staying near Bad was... 

Sapnap rubbed at his wrists, eyeing his surroundings. He was holed up in an abandoned house, one without a bed. He’d hidden himself in a far corner, unnerved by the silence.

Everything here was the same. Trashed. Empty. 

Bitterness made him clench his jaw, glaring at nothing. Why couldn’t it just go back to normal? Why couldn’t he just be on a normal mission, with normal destinations and a normal target in a normal village? 

Not a target that made his chest ache from... (fear, guilt, curiosity) and not companions that would turn on him at the drop of a hat and reveal... 

And reveal... 

Sapnap groaned under his breath, starting to pace. He kicked at the floorboards as he pivoted, mind a mile away. 

Bad could be lying. He could be saying that to get under his skin, to stop him from wanting to fulfill the mission. The orders. (And it was working, wasn’t it?) 

But he could also be telling the truth. 

The thought felt like a bucket of ice water down his spine. It made him shiver, lock up. Sapnap shook, staring at his hands. 

His hands, which held scars upon scars. Some of which were from panicked Netherfolk as he grabbed at them, ready to take them to the king. Ready to take them to their presumed deaths. 

He’d felt guilty before. Of course he had, he was human after all. 

But he’d never allowed guilt to interfere with a mission. He pushed it aside and channeled something easier. More familiar. 

Anger. 

Anger that burned him every time he acted on it. Anger that hurt, but guilt would hurt more. 

George liked to say he was angry at the world, but that wasn’t true. He had been, once. But now... 

Sapnap supposed he wore a mask just as often as Dream.

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Dream hadn’t truly realized how little he knew about the history of his people. 

He’d understood. Of course he had. But... it hadn’t truly clicked. Not even when he couldn’t read his own language. (But was it really his, when he was half? What was he?) 

It hadn’t really clicked, until the newest hunter, the Netherfolk, snapped. Until he ranted about an apparent famine. About them trying to flee to the Overworld. 

Dream wondered... He wondered if his mother had run for that reason. If she’d met his dad after finally escaping a hungry childhood. 

Bad looked so worn down. He looked tired, heavy. There was an equally heavy silence, one where all they did was stare at each other. 

It felt like a challenge, but also a question. Dream didn’t know what to say. 

Until Tubbo grabbed at his wrist, tugging gently. 

“Let’s... go talk somewhere else, please,” he said, and Bad nodded. 

Dream let Tubbo drag him back out into the hallway, let Bad follow. 

Some part of him still felt guarded, ready to attack. Bad was a hunter, and that meant he wanted to hurt him. Even if, logically, he could remember what Tubbo had told him. 

It still felt too good to be true. 

Some primal part of him, the part that rejoiced every time he managed to kill a hunter, wanted to turn and slit Bad’s throat. Wanted to cut him down before he had a chance to double cross them. 

But, if what Tubbo had told him was true, then he’d given up his position in the Overworld to save him. And that should count for something. 

So Dream forced himself to sheath his sword, hands shaking minutely all the while. 

He still felt off. Shaky. The bodies flashed in his vision every time he blinked. 

But now he had something to distract him. And he intended to capitalize on it. 

Not that the thought of there being a Nerherfolk right there next to him calmed him down. Just the thought of something like that was enough to make his heart race. 

But at least it wasn’t remembering the room. 

Tubbo was the first to speak again, looking between him and Bad hesitantly. 

“So, um, Dream,” he said, “This is the hunter I was telling you about. Bad. The one that’s Netherfolk. Though, I guess it’s pretty obvious...” 

Dream nodded. 

It was obvious. He hadn’t even known Netherfolk could look like that, with cracked red skin and black highlights. Bad looked like the demons humans proclaimed them to be, and Dream couldn’t help but feel a bit uncomfortable. 

Uncomfortable, because he wasn’t truly Netherfolk either. He was half. And that meant he was stuck in the in between. 

“...So why did you do it?” Dream asked. 

Bad seemed to shake himself out of a stupor, tilting his head. 

“Why did I do what?” 

“Why did you help Tubbo escape with me?” Dream asked, “Why did you give yourself away? Just... why?” 

Bad faltered, and when he blinked his skin shimmered, shifting back into what he’d looked like before. Able to pass off as human if it weren’t for his eyes. Prettily red eyes, softer than Dream’s own. 

He smiled, the expression full of something that made Dream shift, uncomfortable. 

“Because someone asked me to look after you,” Bad said, “And I made it my personal mission. I owed them a favor, after all.” 

Dream frowned, confused. 

He didn’t have anyone that would ask for something like that. No one who’d go to the lengths of getting a Netherfolk on their side. 

“Besides,” Bad continued, “I would’ve done it anyway, even without owing them. I like helping people.” 

He said it with such warmth in his voice, warm like the lava outside and the fire inside Dream’s own eyes, that Dream could feel the warmth surround him. It felt like when Tubbo laughed with him about some stupid joke, like when Ant— when Ant would patiently listen to his rants. 

It felt like companionship. 

Dream didn’t like it. 

He didn’t know him. He didn’t know Bad. And even though a huge part of him wanted to, the fact was that he didn’t yet. He wasn’t ready to care about him. 

Dream closed himself off, frowning. 

“Sure,” he said, “How am I supposed to trust you? You could just be... I don’t know, but...”

Out of the corner of his eye Tubbo shook his head. 

“Dream,” Tubbo said, “Do you honestly think he’d do all of this to double cross you? He could’ve just helped Sapnap a while back and we’d both be dead. I understand being wary, trust me. But... I can’t see it.” 

Tubbo hesitated, glancing at Bad. 

“Besides...,” he murmured, “What went down in the... room... I don’t think that’s an elaborate acting scheme. It was too raw.” 

Bad flinched slightly, and Tubbo grimaced, apologizing with his eyes. 

Dream... Dream knew that. He’d known. It was just... 

It felt too good to be true. And he might’ve thought that already, over and over. But... 

The thought of having someone else to rely on was a fairy tale. One that he couldn’t truly read. Couldn’t understand. 

But he’d try. 

“...Okay,” he sighed, “Now.” 

He hardened his gaze, watching as Bad squirmed slightly. 

“Who told you to look after me. You have one answer. No avoiding the question.” 

For a moment Bad looked like was going to protest. His shoulders tightened, closing in towards his ears. Then he stared into Dream’s eyes and sighed. He looked almost... regretful. Sad. 

“I think you know,” he said, voice quiet. 

Dream growled lowly, hand flying to his sword. He took a step forward, grinning at the way Bad took a step back. 

“My father? Did he send you to spy on me or whatever sick thing he thought of next?” 

Bad’s eyes widened and he waved his hands frantically, shaking his head. 

“No! Of course not,” he cried, “Goodness, I thought you would know...” 

Then Bad drew himself up, setting his shoulders. He looked like he was prepping himself, like he needed to gather himself. 

“...It was your mother,” Bad said, smiling bitterly, “Who else?” 

The words didn’t make sense. He couldn’t have heard them. It wasn’t what Bad had said, it couldn’t be. His mom was long gone, either dead or... somewhere. So it would’ve had to have been ages ago and—

“I’m sorry, can you say that again?” Dream whispered, feeling unsteady. 

Bad frowned. Opened his mouth. 

“...It was your mom.”

Dream took a step back, head light. Something ugly and sad writhed under his skin and he scowled, gathering himself. 

“...No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you vote for Tommy to be exiled or did you vote incorrectly? 
> 
> Also sorry for how short this chapter is, the stream sapped all of my ability to think of anything but the plot possibilities of the SMP right now.


	29. Chapter 29

Dream had never known his mother that well. 

How could he have known her, when he was just a kid before she left? A kid who didn’t think to ask about her past unless she told him stories, fantastical in a way that made them feel unreal? 

How could he have, when he hardly ever saw her unless she pulled him out of bed, eyes hidden and voice soft as she took him to the garden? 

So he’d never known much about her. He’d known enough, though, at the time. He’d known how safe she’d felt, how warm. How, when he sat in her lap, nothing could hurt him. 

He’d known that she was Netherborn, and that she was pretty. That she hid her eyes whenever she had to leave the garden, always hesitating as she did so. 

He’d known that sometimes she limped, stumbling noticeably despite trying to reassure him she was fine. 

He’d known his father hurt her. 

He was just a kid back then, but he’d known. Just like some of the knights hated him, hit him when he was down. That’s what happened to his mom when she was around the king. 

He’d known she wasn’t happy, but didn’t know why. 

He knew now. 

He knew why she was unhappy, why she limped sometimes. He knew why she had to hide her eyes, why she hesitated when she did. 

He knew why she had to leave. 

It was just like when he had to leave, eventually, though without the inciting... incident. She’d run for safety. He’d run for that. But also necessity. 

And though it hurt, he couldn’t blame her, not now. (He had, once. When he was a kid, a teen. He’d hated her.) 

He didn’t blame her for running away. But the thought of someone else meeting her... Of making a... what even was it? A pact? A promise? 

Dream stared at Bad, at the way he looked nervous, shifty. 

His hands clenched sporadically, absentmindedly. Dream almost wanted to draw his sword, if only for the comfort. 

“...No,” he said, willing it to be true, “No. You’re wrong. My mom wouldn’t... she had no reason to...” 

Bad shook his head. He shook his head, as though he knew more about Dream’s own mother than he did. Dream grit his teeth, trying to stay still. To breath evenly. 

“She. Wouldn’t.” 

Bad was backing up now, eyes wide. Dream didn’t want him to. He wanted him to stay, and to explain and to just... to just explain. 

Explain why it hurt so much, to hear someone else bring her up. 

It shouldn’t. He’d talked about her with Tubbo and all he’d felt was a sad acceptance. But... for some reason the thought of Bad knowing her made him want to scream. To scream and to shout and—

A hand wrapped around his wrist, gentle and small, and Dream faltered. 

Tubbo was there. 

He was there, staring up into Dream’s eyes with a soft steadiness that felt older than it should be. It looked understanding, but also like a rebuke. He looked sad. Sad and calm and so, so mature. Dream relaxed slightly under his touch, trying to focus on the hand near his and not on how much his chest ached. 

He hissed a breath through his teeth, trying to adjust his thoughts. 

“....Please,” he said, voice tight, “Explain. I don’t understand.” 

The words hurt to say, but Bad inched forwards afterwards so Dream counted it as a win. 

Bad looked much more nervous than he had before, hands twisting together. But he also held himself like a knight, even without the armor. Dream was familiar with knights, and all they brought. 

“She helped me. When I was younger,” Bad said, tone hesitant, “Years ago, back when... during the famine. It wasn’t that bad, at least... I don’t know— um.” 

He paused for a moment. If Dream was feeling any nicer, any more stable, he might have let the conversation go. But instead he waited, watched. 

Bad bit his lip for a moment before taking a deep breath, setting his shoulders. 

Tubbo’s hand tightened around Dream’s wrist, a welcome weight. 

“I was too young to understand much,” Bad said, eyes downcast, “I mean... I wasn’t that young, about thirteen when I met her, but... they kept the kids out of the loop. Wanted them to be happy. I didn’t know that there was actually a lot of food, it was just given to... the more important people. I didn’t know that what food I did get was food that was taken from someone else.” 

Bad faltered, blinking. Dream pretended he didn’t notice the way his face twisted, lost. Lost in memories. 

“...My family had been some of the last to migrate to the Overworld,” Bad continued, “But I was cut off from them because of a mistake. When I tried to follow I couldn’t. The portals were all broken from the Overworld’s side.” 

Dream’s heart plunged. He felt cold. 

He knew where this was going. 

As a prince he’d been shielded from the actual war. He’d been too young, anyway, back when the fighting was still intense. Instead he’d learned about it in classes, with tutors that somehow managed to make death sound boring. 

In one of those classes, he’d learned about when his father had ordered all of the portals to be destroyed. His tutor had pressed that it was to keep an invasion from happening, to keep peace. 

Even as a kid Dream had questioned it. 

Especially when he’d learned of what had happened to Netherborn who were caught trying to make a portal. 

Dream slipped his wrist out of Tubbo’s grip, adjusting so that he was holding his hand. He didn’t look at Tubbo, didn’t want to see the look in his eyes. He felt pathetic, holding onto a teens hand for support. 

But... while he didn’t know much of anything about his culture or the Netherfolk’s side of the war, he knew a lot about what his father had done. He knew a lot about his kingdom’s side. 

Bad wasn’t looking at them. He was staring out through a narrow window, staring at the bubbling lava. 

“...When my parents made a portal to drag me to the Overworld it worked,” he said, voice hollow, “It worked, but they were... caught.” 

Dream didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t... 

A part of him was screaming that this. Was. A. Netherborn. Someone he should want to get to know. Someone he should learn from, should lean into. 

Another part wanted to draw his sword and attack. Wanted to jeer and taunt and run away. Wanted to hide and never be found again, with Tubbo by his side. 

But mostly... mostly he just didn’t want to hear this. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t make out his emotions when he thought of everything Bad’s words meant. 

“What does this have to do with my mom?” 

The words were spat, full of venom that wasn’t truly directed towards Bad. Tubbo tightened his hold on Dream’s hand even more. 

Tubbo had stayed silent throughout the exchange. Dream didn’t know how to feel about that. 

Bad cleared his throat lowly, drawing Dream’s attention back to him. 

“...She found me, after it happened,” he said, the words jagged and rough, “I had no idea where I was or what to do. She gave me a purpose, a way to survive. And all she asked in return was to...” 

Bad finally made eye contact, and Dream’s breath hitched. 

“...Was to take care of you.” 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Tubbo watched as Dream shuddered. For a moment he seemed like he would pull through, somber and stoic. But then his face twisted, and tears started to slip down his cheeks. 

He was shaking, shoulders hitching. Dream looked wrecked, in a way that Tubbo hadn’t seen him like at all. He looked so young, so sad, nothing like Tubbo’s Dream. 

It felt wrong to think of the Dream of his past when he was faced with a moment like this. 

Tubbo never knew his mother, had never even met her. He wondered what it’d be like, to learn something like this about her. To learn that she cared, even though she left him in a box by the side of a path. 

He imagined he might look like Dream did now, with wet eyes and shaking shoulders. 

Dream seemed to crumble all at once, like a doll with cut strings. He crouched to the ground, pulling Tubbo with him by the hand. Tubbo didn’t let go, despite the way Dream’s grasp was almost painful. 

Tubbo watched as Bad walked forward, hesitant. 

For a moment all that filled the hallway was the sound of Dream’s muffled sobs, oh so quiet even in the hollow building. Then Tubbo huddled a bit closer to him, trying to remind him that he existed. 

That he was there. 

Dream responded, shifting to be shoulder to shoulder with him. They huddled, awkward in the way that it wasn’t a hug, but almost. They were leaning against each other, hands clasped. 

Tubbo watched Bad walk closer, eyeing the way he shuffled awkwardly. He looked out of place, nervous and shifty. It was awkward, showing affection with an audience. But Dream needed it, he knew that. 

Dream stiffened as Bad sat on the ground next to them, still a few feet away. He was giving them space, and Tubbo appreciated it. 

While he wanted to believe Bad’s story, wanted to believe all of his intentions were good... Some part of him deep down couldn’t trust him yet. The part of him that checked people’s stances every time he met them, the part of him that didn’t feel safe until he held a weapon. 

He didn’t know anything about this world. So for all he knew Bad could be lying through his teeth. (Why would he?) 

But the way Bad looked. So dejected and sad but trying to cover it up, made him want to pull him in with them. Made him want to just... pretend. Pretend they were all buddy buddy and let him join them. 

But Dream didn’t seem ready. Tubbo definitely wasn’t either, but...

They couldn’t afford to be emotional. They couldn’t. They were in the Nether, in some sort of fortress, with a missing hunter. 

So Tubbo knew, once Dream pulled himself together, they’d have to do something. They’d have to get out of here. 

With Bad beside them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a pizza addiction at this point. I almost had another burnt pizza incident while writing this so— I’m deciding it’s somehow your fault, readers. You give me too much motivation.
> 
> Also, I wrote a one shot about Bad’s backstory a few days ago. It’s in the series, hope you like it!


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point I’m pretty sure y’all know that this is about character versions of real people, and definitely not the real people themselves, but I’m going to say it anyway. 
> 
> Also this chapter deals with heavy topics such as past abuse and child soldiers. Please take care of yourselves!

Sometimes, only sometimes, Tubbo would catch himself doing something that made him pause. Made his breath catch, made a deep ache settle in his gut. 

It happened less and less as the days went on in L’Manberg. Perhaps because he was too busy, and only seemed to get busier. He didn’t have time to think about the logic of his actions, under Schlatt. Perhaps it was because he was at Tommy’s side less and less, and he didn’t have an opportunity to compare his decisions to his brothers’. 

Perhaps it was because he got all too comfortable with his actions. Got too used to the fear that was a constant under his skin, got used to the itch for a weapon. 

He hadn’t really thought about the reasons for his actions at all when he’d found himself in this new world. 

Until now. 

Until he had to pull Dream together as though he were the adult. When he had to be the rock in the storm, unyielding and steady. 

Even this worlds’ Bad seemed wary, a bit too quiet to be of much help. 

Tubbo hated it. Hated himself. 

He hated the instincts drilled into him by past experience and rough hands. Hated the whispers he couldn’t drive away fully. The ones that told him two opposite lies, two ways of seeing the world. 

He hated how Wilbur and Schlatt would never truly leave his side, even in another world. 

They’d shaped him, built up this war torn kid out of someone who’d only wanted stability. Peace. Tommy. 

(A part of him knew peace and Tommy couldn’t exist together. Tommy was chaos, a beautiful chaos, but chaos nonetheless. The rest of him whispered that it would’ve worked. They could’ve figured something out.) 

Every time he was met with something like this, something that made his thoughts steady, made his ever present walls grow, he’d fall back on that molding. On the way he’d been shaped for years. 

War took time, after all. Tubbo had grown along with the resistance, grown alongside rebellion. It hadn’t been something that had sparked in his teen years, it’d followed him for almost as long as he could remember. 

It’d started with Tommy, as most things in his life did. When they’d left Phil behind in pursuit of adventure. They’d been tiny, far too young to be packing for a trip they might never come back from. 

(And part of him, looking back, resented Phil just a bit. He couldn’t help but wish he could’ve stayed, that Phil would’ve realized letting children hardly older then ten run off wasn’t a good idea. But although Phil was a nice man, he’d never been a present father.) 

With Tommy he’d ventured into Dream’s lands. Had been taken under his wing. They’d played together there, as happy as he could ever remember being. 

But there were people that were restless. And Tubbo had learned, even then, to be cautious. Dream was ruthless in squashing any resistance. Those that were wishing for independence were hardened, angry. Ready to do anything to run Dream through. 

Hurting the two kids that seemed to be attached to him at the hip was as good a way as any to hurt Dream. 

Even with that, Tubbo had been happy. He’d liked Dream, had followed him just like Tommy did. Sure, he was a bit scary. A bit closed off. But he’d never hurt them. 

(And they’d been so alone, so lonely. Tommy wouldn’t admit it, but Tubbo had known from the beginning that he wasn’t enough. That they both had been too young, not even teens. They’d needed someone. Anyone.) 

Then Wilbur had appeared out of nowhere. 

Wilbur, who Tubbo had never truly known quite as well as he did Tommy. When Phil had taken him in Tommy was the one who’d taken him under his wing. It was Tommy who’d bothered to be his brother. 

Wilbur, while nice enough, hadn’t ever really been close to him before he’d run off with Tommy. 

Except apparently Wilbur had cared. Because he’d followed them, even if it took a few years. He’d followed them, intent on taking care of them. 

It’d been a beautiful lie. 

He’d never been there for them. Tubbo knew that, now. Now that he was in a different world, with a different perspective. 

He could look back, and remember the gleam in his brothers’ eyes. The way he’d greedily taken Dream’s land. Had rallied children underneath him as soldiers, as right hand men.

He’d shaped Tubbo. Had shown him affection, but had also shown him the duties of a soldier. 

He was the person who’d taught him to kill, late at night. The man who’d helped him brew drugs and potions with the intent of harm. 

But he was also his brother. 

A man who had this irresistible charisma, charm. The same charm that rallied everyone to him, until they were a force strong enough to become a legitimate threat. 

When they’d won L’Manberg, when Schlatt came to power, Tubbo was shaped even more. 

He was shaped by loneliness, by his separation from Tommy. He was shaped by the way Schlatt dug his fingers into his shoulders when he greeted him. Was shaped by the casual way Schlatt would hit him, as though it wasn’t a big thing. 

And it wasn’t. He’d get hit, would collect himself for a minute, and then continue talking with Schlatt. Continue the paperwork. 

He’d continue. 

He’d been shaped by that. He’d learned how to be quiet, how to walk silently. How to appease someone with a temper as fiery as the Nether. 

And, when he’d scrambled at the walls nearby, when he’d been unable to see anything but the way Schlatt had grinned, the way Wilbur had turned away, the way Techno’s face was twisted, he’d learned how it felt to burn. 

That’s what he felt like now, with Dream leaning against his side. He felt hot, and not just from the oppressive heat of the Nether. 

Bad’s eyes burned into his neck as he burrowed closer to Dream, trying to ignore the voice that told him it was shameful to act like this. To show affection when he needed to show direction. To direct them all to safety. 

Those instincts, the ones that he usually could ignore, felt like they were roaring in his skull. He couldn’t ignore them now, couldn’t ignore his racing thoughts, even as he tried to cuddle against Dream’s side. 

He couldn’t ignore how he was already analyzing the best way to get to the Overworld. Already trying to figure out where they could go from here. 

Already taking into account how much of a burden Bad might be. How he might make Dream act, if it’d be better to leave him behind. 

But he’d already decided to take Bad with them, wherever they were going. 

That didn’t stop those racing thoughts. Those what ifs. What if he was a danger? Someone who’d betray them? Was his reason, a flimsy promise from ages ago, truly something that’d hold up? 

(It was never meant to be.) 

Tubbo didn’t close his eyes, even though he desperately wanted to. He wanted to sink into Dream’s hold and just exist. Wanted to feel him breathing against him, feel the way he shifted. Wanted to feel like he was safe. 

But he couldn’t. 

Tubbo moved sluggishly, standing. He watched Dream blink rapidly, watched Dream shift to sit up. He looked a bit too distant, shell shocked. 

That wasn’t good. He wouldn’t be of any help like that. 

Tubbo turned to Bad. He took a deep breath, ignoring the way it burned his lungs. 

He felt so hot. Too light headed. He needed to get out of here, out of the place that reminded him of war and blood and fireworks and hollow apologies. 

He stopped fighting. Allowed himself to embrace his instincts, to shift back into who he’d been on the battlefield. 

Tubbo stared at Bad, feet planted. Hands at the ready. He was ready to take the leadership role, even though that hadn’t ever been what he’d done during the wars. He’d always been on the sidelines. 

(Until Schlatt, but did being his right hand man count? Did speeches and paperwork and collecting taxes truly count as being on the front lines? Did it count as being a leader?) 

Dream needed him. This Dream needed him right now, so he’d be a leader, if only for a moment. 

“Bad.” 

Bad tensed visibly, but he didn’t seem scared. That was good. He just seemed a bit anxious, which was understandable, after everything. 

“...Yes?” 

Tubbo could feel sweat drip down his forehead. He was so hot. 

(The firework had been hot. Searing.) 

“We need to get out of here,” Tubbo said, voice steady, “Do you have any idea where Sapnap would go?” 

Bad bit his lip, eyes flicking to Dream. 

Dream, who’d stood. 

Tubbo had noticed every movement out of the corner of his eye, from the way he’d swayed as he’d stood, to how he’d tried to gather himself. Dream stood just behind him, staring at Bad with molten eyes. 

“Well?” Tubbo pressed, impatience making him shift. 

Bad shrugged. 

“I have... no idea,” he said, eyes still fixed on Dream, “That muffinhead’s probably long gone by now. He’s... really stubborn.” 

The thought that Sapnap might be dead briefly made Tubbo pause. 

If he was dead from a mob or from the lava, then they’d be wasting time looking for him. Time they could’ve used to get out of the Nether and hide. Or whatever they’d be doing once Dream... snapped out of it. 

But if Sapnap wasn’t dead then they’d be leaving him to a death brought on by lack of water and his own stubbornness. 

Tubbo only had to weigh the options for a moment before he turned to Dream, grabbing his arm. Dream stared down at him, eyes somehow blank despite how they swirled like lava. 

“We’re going. We need— we need to go.” 

Dream frowned. 

“...How?” 

Tubbo faltered. He bit his lip, deep in thought. 

They needed a portal. A way to light it. 

“We could use the... the abandoned portal,” Tubbo murmured, “I reckon it’d be the fastest way.” 

He didn’t miss the way Dream shuddered, eyes unfocusing for a brief moment. 

“How do you know that’s safe?” Bad asked, startling him. Tubbo almost grabbed for his sword, heartbeat loud in his ears. Instead he tensed, gritting his teeth. 

He was getting too unobservant. He needed to pay more attention. 

“I don’t, okay?” He said, exasperated, “I don’t— I don’t even know what our goal is! Sure, we need to survive. But. I just— All of this is getting so confusing and I...” 

For a moment Tubbo desperately wished for L’Manberg. For Tommy and purpose, and a clear goal. Even if he had to scramble to survive, even if he had to fight for a chance to breathe, at least he’d been...

What had he been? 

Tubbo huffed under his breath, hand still wrapped around Dream’s arm. He slid it to his wrist. Allowed himself to close his eyes for a brief moment. 

For a split second he could pretend the person he was holding was Tommy. Even if Dream’s wrist was larger, warmer. 

Then he had to gather himself again, had to open his eyes. 

Bad was watching him with something soft in his eyes. It made Tubbo want to snarl. Want to fight and yell and scream. 

But he wasn’t Tommy. He couldn’t accuse someone of pity and yell at them that he was better than that. That he didn’t need any sympathy. 

Because deep down he just wanted to hand the reins to someone else. He wanted someone to tell him that it was okay, that he didn’t have to be the mature one. The one in control. 

Dream was silent as Bad finally walked closer to them, breaching their bubble of personal space. 

Tubbo allowed it. Forced back the voice screaming at him that Bad was a stranger and therefore an enemy. Someone to watch. 

Even in L’Manberg Bad had been neutral. Kind. Sure, he’d had a ruthless streak like they all did, but he’d been soft. Sure. 

He’d been a soldier like them all, stiff and hostile. But he’d also kept some of his innocence, some of his unfailing kindness. 

Not that Tubbo had ever truly known him enough to see more than fleeting glances. He’d... been far too busy. 

So maybe here, he could pretend that this Bad was just as nice. Maybe even better. For a moment he could pretend. 

Bad seemed to see something in his eyes, because he relaxed just a bit. 

“Let me help you,” Bad said, “I know... I know I don’t deserve your trust yet. But I’ll be valuable, I promise.” 

Tubbo wished he could be nice. That he could say, flat out, that it didn’t matter if Bad was valuable or not. 

But he couldn’t. 

“.....Okay.” 

Dream was still silent. He was deathly quiet, and it was almost scary. Almost terrifying, how he looked so blank. Masked. 

Tubbo could see some of his Dream, in his eyes, behind the oranges and reds. 

They stood there, all three of them quiet, for only a moment. 

Then Dream ripped his arm out of Tubbo’s grip. He dragged his fingers through his hair, movements gagged.

It was like he’d snapped back into focus, into movement. He was animated, only barely restrained. He looked lost in thought. 

Dream snarled, teeth sharp and eyes flashing. 

“My... My dad,” he said, voice low, “It’s his fault that all of this has happened. This— This is all his fault! All he cares about is having a ‘safe country’! He doesn’t care about me! About my— my mom. He’s why she left. Why...” 

His hands fell to his sides, clenching into fists. 

“I hate him.” 

Tubbo could feel that all too familiar fear clog his throat as Dream started to pace like a wild animal, something in his eyes glinting. He looked like a restrained predator, tense and focused. 

Tubbo inched away, closer to Bad. 

“I hate him! I hate him so much,” Dream growled, “I never had a chance to do anything but sit around because of him. He never planned on having me become king! This was all— This was all his plan from the start, it must have been.”

Then, all at once, Dream turned to them, expression wild. 

He didn’t look terrified anymore. Didn’t look shocked. Instead, an unrestrained rage flickered like torchlight across his face. 

He laughed, something low and slightly crazed. 

“He wants me to be the evil son, huh? The son that murdered his way to him? Well...” 

Tubbo felt frozen as he stood beside Bad, unable to tear his eyes away from the way Dream shook minutely. 

“Maybe,” Dream hissed, tears slipping down his cheeks, “Maybe I should give him what he wants.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tubbo, trying to hold it together: Hey, so what are we going to do to get out of the Nether? 
> 
> Dream: m u r d e r
> 
> Surprisingly I didn’t have a pizza related incident this time. I mean... kinda. Um anyway I hope you liked the chapter and sorry for the wait!
> 
> Edit: I have NOT abandoned this fic, I promise. I’m only taking a bit of a break. The next chapter will happen even if it kills me. Sorry about the wait! <333


	31. Chapter 31

There was a hand on his shoulder, digging in. It wasn’t comforting, not like the way Tommy would throw an arm around him. Not in the way Quackity would grip his shoulder, steady and true. It dug in and in until it hit bone, immovable. 

Tubbo couldn’t breathe. 

He stared up into Dream’s eyes, up and up and up and wow he’s so short compared to him, to everyone—

“You’re not going to help them are you Tubbo?” Dream asked, tone far too sweet, “Not after everything? I know you’ve already joined them. But I get it, you just followed Tommy. Like you always do. I need you, Tubbo.” 

The hand on his shoulder dug in and in. Tubbo couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. 

“I get it. I get why you did it. But... But I need you. So I’ll give you another chance. Think of the years we spent together, Tubbo! I’m your friend, even now! Please just... help me.”

Dream looked strangely desperate in that moment, icy expression melting into something warm. 

“...I’ll protect you from the battles, from Wilbur.” 

Tubbo choked back a whimper, gritting his teeth. He stared into those eyes, brilliantly green, and couldn’t help but remember a time when they’d been a comfort. When he could race up to Dream, give him a hug. When he could relax around him. 

He couldn’t breathe, it was so hot. Too hot. 

Tubbo couldn’t breathe. 

He watched as Dream crumbled, wild and unstable and so sad. So angry. His hand was on his shoulder, digging in. 

And yet. 

And yet the hand didn’t dig to the bone. It was fierce, but gentle. More like a beg for comfort than a vice. Tubbo didn’t shrug Dream off. 

The air in his lungs was far too hot. It felt like smoke and color and fireworks all stuffed into his chest. 

Everything was different but so similar and it all felt like too much. Tubbo felt unsteady, stuck in waves of emotions he couldn’t identify. 

This Dream wasn’t going to hurt him, right? No, of course he would. He was Dream after all. 

No, wait. But. 

But his words were so familiar, so angry and raw and sad and they reminded him of a different hand grabbing his shoulder. It reminded him of a plea. Of a request. Of the feeling of dread as he returned to Manberg, with a new job to do. 

Tubbo was reminded of a hand digging into his arm, and of a voice whispering threats and of long nights trying to hide bruises. 

The hand on his shoulder shifted. 

The hand shifted and it moved closer to his neck and all Tubbo could think was—

“No, Wilbur, stop!” 

And he tumbled backwards, wrenching the hand away. Tubbo didn’t trip over his own feet, he was too used to this to make such a rookie mistake. If he fell he was vulnerable, and then everything would be worse. 

That didn’t stop him from raising arms to wrap around his chest, all too aware of how shaky he felt. 

He needed to be calm, to be the one with the level head. He couldn’t let Wilbur think he’d gotten to him—

“...W— Wilbur?” 

Ice cold washed down his spine as Tubbo snapped into focus. 

It wasn’t Wilbur. Of course it wasn’t, it was Dream. It couldn’t have been Wilbur, they were in a completely different world and he was so, so stupid. So stupid to think that the president would even bother with him anyway. 

He hadn’t been anything but a spy to him in the end, not even worth intimidating, that was all Schlatt, but why didn’t he think of Schlatt first then? What—

“Who’s Wilbur, Tubbo?” 

Tubbo froze, eyes wide. He couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t. Then he’d have to explain and it’d make everything so much worse and...

And Tubbo opened his mouth, on autopilot. Before he could say a word, before he could say something he might regret, Dream lurched forward a step, waving a hand. 

“It doesn’t— It doesn’t matter,” Dream snapped, the words sharp, “Not right now. What— What matters is taking down my father. I want— I want him gone! Dead.” 

Grit teeth, mouth in a snarl. 

(—I want Schlatt gone, dead—) 

Tubbo shivered, fingers digging into his arms. Ghosts of Wilbur seemed to be everywhere, from the glint in Dream’s eyes to the way Bad shifted, wary but strong. 

Wilbur had been many things. A leader to most. A friend and brother to Tommy, to him. A manipulator. 

A man swallowed by paranoia. 

Sometimes, paranoia was all Tubbo could feel. It was something he fell back on, something he used like a weapon. Maybe if he was extra careful he could stop something bad from happening before there was even a chance of anything going wrong. Maybe he could worry the bad stuff away, think hard enough to stop someone from making a mistake. 

Before, he didn’t act on his words. He just stewed in that nervousness. Held his thoughts behind a cage of wishes. Wishes for peace. 

But now. 

Now he was hardened by the reality of what his decisions had led to. 

It wasn’t his fault Wilbur fell like Icarus. It wasn’t his fault Techno...

It wasn’t his fault. 

But he could have done more. Could have done more than just— than just saying yes and bowing his head, and wishing, wishing, wishing...

(—you’re just a yes man—) 

Tubbo could see the traces of Wilbur in Dream’s stance. In his words. And even though he couldn’t push away that all too familiar fear, he knew he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. 

He wasn’t a yes man. 

He wasn’t. 

“And then what.” 

The words were sharp, steady. Tubbo almost flinched at the way Dream froze, eyes wide. But he didn’t. He held his ground, tense. 

“....What?” 

Tubbo took a step forward, eyes narrowing as Dream shuffled in place. Unsteady. Unsure. 

“You heard me,” Tubbo said, voice low, “Then. What. You kill your father. Then what? I have no idea who he is, you haven’t told me outright, but I’m not stupid. No matter how important he is it won’t change a thing if you don’t have a plan. You’re being stupid. Irrational!” 

When he blinked, Tubbo could almost see Wilbur’s face overlaid with Dream’s defensive scowl. 

Dream hunched into himself, coiled like prey about to strike a last blow before death. Tubbo ignored the way his hands shook and his eyes leaked lava, too busy looking into the past. 

“And how would you know, Tubbo?” Dream spat, quick and harsh, “How would you know? You’re just a teenager!” 

Tubbo couldn’t hear Bad’s protests, couldn’t feel the arm trying to pull him away from Dream. Couldn’t stop himself from drawing himself up higher, from clenching his fists. 

All he could see was red. Red blood staining his fingertips as Dream chased him down to kill him. Red wine as Schlatt lurched towards him, smile cruel and wide. Red torchlight as Wilbur mocked his loyalty, as Wilbur allowed everything to fall apart. 

All Tubbo could focus on was the wave of red as he lurched forward, grabbing at Dream’s shirt and pulling him down to his level. 

“Because,” he growled, “I’ve seen this before. I’ve lived this before! I’ve seen someone as stupid as you make this same mistake and I won’t let it happen again. Even if it kills me. Even if— Even if you kill me!” 

He let go as Dream stumbled back, face flashing with something that looked almost stricken. 

“I— I wouldn’t... I... No—“ 

Before Tubbo could retaliate, before he could scream that, yes, he would, he would kill him because he was Dream and he would kill to get his way, someone tugged him backwards. 

In an instant Tubbo swung a fist blindly, chest tight with rage and simmering fear. He froze as a hand clasped around his forearm, fingers digging into his skin. He jerked slightly, testing the grip, but it was firm. 

Bad was staring down at him, face grim and eyes still as gentle as always. But there was a steel there that made Tubbo stay alert, eyes wide. 

The hand around his forearm didn’t loosen as Bad glanced away, above his head. Most likely staring at Dream. 

“Both of you... Both of you need to calm down,” Bad said, tone reminiscent of Phil’s scolding, “We’re all just a bit tense after what we saw in the... the room. Now, I think we should all just... um. Just get out of the Nether and clear our heads, okay?” 

Bad glanced down at Tubbo, eyes molten. Tubbo looked away, wishing he could pull out of Bad’s hold without hurting him. He could do it, could escape, but Bad’s grip was so firm that he couldn’t risk it. 

He hated it though, those fingers gently digging into his arm. Though far more kind than usual they still ignited a flame of fear in his chest, even more than hands on his shoulders could. 

(He’d been dragged to his death by the forearm, thrown into the cage of a throne by force. Sometimes he could still feel Schlatt’s fingers dig into his skin.) 

“I— No, I can’t do this, I can’t leave yet,” Dream said, “What Tubbo’s saying... I can’t...”

Tubbo twisted in Bad’s grip until he could see Dream, rage still simmering. But more than that....

He was just tired. 

So tired. 

Dream looked tired too, shaky and worn. Angry at the world but only because he didn’t know what else to feel. Tubbo could relate. 

“What are you even talking about Tubbo? How can you say that I would...,” Dream looked away, at the floor, “How can you say that it won’t help? That killing my father won’t help? He’s the king! He’s the one at fault and I just...” 

Dream trailed off, sagging like a doll with cut strings. Tubbo watched as his anger left, replaced with something just as terrifying. 

(—Wilbur, eyes far too blank, Schlatt, hazy and hollow from who knows what—) 

Tubbo felt just as hollow, in that moment. The hand around his arm burned, the revelation that Dream was a prince felt unimportant, everything...

Everything was too tiring. 

“I know from experience, Dream,” Tubbo said, voice quieter than ever, “I know from my own part in war. Personal grudges and entitlement... they... they only ruin people.” 

There was a pause, like they were all holding their breath. 

The hand around his arm loosened and fell away, and Tubbo almost stumbled in his haste to get away, arm clutched to his chest. 

He did stumble when the weight of his words hit him, nausea threatening to make him fall. He’d— He’d just— He’d admitted—

Tubbo watched as Dream’s face fell. Watched as Bad’s eyes watered. 

In that moment he wished his instincts would kick in. That he’d stand, rigid and strong and angry, and not fall. Instead he wavered, eyes burning. Instead he couldn’t find it in himself to care too much when Dream stared at him, mouth agape. 

The one thing he’d liked about this new world was the absence of war and its effects on people around him. The one thing he’d been happy about was... was the peace. Now...

Now that war had followed him even here, Tubbo couldn’t feel anything but hollow. 

(But it wasn’t really the war, was it? It was the people. Their reactions. The way they always changed, always fell apart. That’s what he really hated. He could handle the violence.) 

Tubbo watched as Dream wavered, face twisting with so many expressions that Tubbo could only make out one. 

Horror. 

“You— You... I... I can’t believe it. I...”

Tubbo couldn’t bear it. He hated the way Dream seemed so unstable, so ready to fall over at the lightest breeze. 

Was it such a big deal that he’d experienced war? This world was at war too, apparently, so why? Why was Dream so shaken, so pale? 

The only real reason he’d even kept it a secret was his own unwillingness to trust. (After all, a war torn teen from another world wasn’t anything but a burden, a freak of nature.) 

Even Bad looked stricken, eyes wet and wide. 

Tubbo grit his teeth. 

He didn’t— He didn’t know what to do. What to say. 

Should he run? Should he get away, before they started asking questions? The option felt cowardly, but...

If he ran he wouldn’t have to deal with how unstable Dream was, wouldn’t have to be reminded. He wouldn’t have to think about the aftershocks of war still scarring this world. He’d be free. 

He’d be free. 

But...

But he could remember something Tommy had said, once, back when they’d been sitting on their bench. Back when they’d been too tired to hide their bruises. 

(—I can’t give up on Wilbur, Tubbo! He’s my... I have to help him by being near him, okay? He thinks he’s alone—)

Tubbo stared into Dream’s eyes, molten and full of tears. 

They weren’t cold, yet. They weren’t unhinged. 

They were desperate. 

But for what? For what? 

Dream’s words may terrify him, but Tubbo was tired. Tired of this happening over and over and over. He was sick of the self destruction. He was sick of watching people break down, of never seeing them build themselves back up. 

He was sick of it. Just...

Just sick of it. 

He wouldn’t let it happen again. He wouldn’t let Dream’s grief, or stress, turn him into a monster. (Not like his Dream, not like Wilbur.) 

What would have helped Wilbur? His Dream? What did he not do, even after trying to help them over and over again? 

Tubbo took a deep breath and walked back to Dream with shaky legs. A part of him still wanted to run, to stay away from a potential danger, but he ignored it. He pushed forward until he was an arms length away, all too aware of the way Dream shifted. 

Tubbo glanced at Bad. For a moment there was silence. 

He couldn’t find the words, in that moment. What was he supposed to say? Should he mention the war? Apologize for getting angry? Ask for help? 

Tubbo resigned himself to telling the truth. He sighed, sluggish tiredness making his shoulders droop. 

“I’m just... I’m really tired, Bad,” he admitted, tone heavy, “Can you... Can you make a portal or something? Or just find a way for us to leave?” 

He just wanted to leave. To get out of the heat. It was so hot. 

Bad narrowed his eyes, glancing at Dream. 

“But...”

For a moment he hesitated, mouth open with unspoken words. Tubbo grimaced, trying to beg with his eyes. Trying to convey just how tired he was, how desperate he was to leave. 

Bad sighed shakily, hands quivering as he fiddled with his cape. 

“...Okay. Sure,” he murmured, “I have some stuff. I know how to make portals, I can use pieces of the ruins. But... do you really want me to leave you guys alone?” 

Not really. 

Tubbo smiled shakily anyway, shooing him away. Bad faltered for a moment, staring, before he walked out of sight. Tubbo didn’t look away until his cape was fully out of view, turning to Dream reluctantly. 

Dream was still staring at him, tense. His shoulders were stiff, visibly drawn up closer to his ears. Tubbo bit his lip, shuffling uneasily. 

He didn’t know what to say. 

The silence felt oppressive, all encompassing. It surrounded them, pressing in from all sides. Tubbo felt smothered, claustrophobic. 

He wanted to say something. Anything. 

Anything, to make the tension go away. 

(But would the tension go away if he spoke? Or would there always be a tension between them now, born from their argument? The thought made Tubbo want to scream, to cry.)

Tubbo opened his mouth, ready to say anything, to do anything, when Dream beat him to it. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Tubbo flinched, eyes widening. 

Dream looked wrecked, hair askew and eyes dull. He didn’t look unstable anymore. Just... weighed down. 

Sad. 

“No, I’m sorry,” Tubbo murmured, gaze plastered to the brick beneath his feet, “I... You’re hurting. Grieving. I shouldn’t have been so angry about it.” 

Tubbo looked up, staring into Dream’s eyes. 

“But I’m not wrong. I won’t apologize for what I said. Ever.” 

Dream looked away, face twisting. 

“...Sure.” 

Tubbo could tell there was more he wanted to say. There was more Tubbo himself wanted to say too, so much more. 

A part of him wanted to bare his soul to this Dream, to tell him stories of nations and best friends. Of spies and betrayals. Of his life. 

The rest of him couldn’t help but tremble at the thought. Couldn’t help but feel far too vulnerable. If Dream knew, he might think he was crazy. Or he might leave. Or... just something. 

The thought of being honest made Tubbo’s breath stutter, so he pushed it away. 

That was for later, if they ever got to that point. If Dream asked. 

That was for later. 

Suddenly too tired to stand, Tubbo sank to the floor. He felt spent, like he’d just run miles. Even then he kept an eye on Dream and a back to a wall, ready for anything. 

(This Dream wouldn’t hurt him. But this Dream had also reminded him of Wilbur, of his Dream, of things he’d rather forget. It was easy to forget just how nice this Dream was, when he did that.) 

Tubbo watched as Dream sat down too. 

They were back to the tense silence. 

Tubbo couldn’t help but feel lonely, then. He didn’t want to be here, sitting in the middle of a fortress with only his paranoia to keep him company. He wanted to be able to banter, to laugh. 

He wanted a friend. (Tommy.) 

He didn’t have one though. No one except for this Dream. 

Tubbo glanced at Dream, suddenly full of longing. Dream wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at his hands, clenched in his lap, as though they held the secrets of the universe. Tubbo wondered what he was thinking about. 

His mom? His dad? His people? Tubbo himself? 

Without thinking Tubbo pushed himself forward, scooting on the brick. It was loud, but even then Dream didn’t look up. Tubbo paused only for a moment before he moved to sit next to Dream. 

They breathed into the silence, like that, for a moment. Tubbo fought with himself, chest aching. 

He was so lonely. Dream was grieving. Maybe... Maybe this would help. Maybe if he was just... there for him.

Maybe. 

Tommy was there for him, before. It was what had gotten him through the war and the skirmishes. If he had to pinpoint what had kept him going, what had given him hope, it had to have been the bench and his quiet moments with Tommy, side by side. 

Tubbo sat on the burning hot brick, side by side with Dream. He sighed softly, watching the distant corridors for any sign of life. 

It was quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So um. Hi. It’s been a month. I wish I could say that I’m back now, but honestly my motivation for writing has been at an all time low recently. It kinda comes in waves, and the beginning of this fic was my best record yet for how consistent I was with motivation. 
> 
> I promise this fic isn’t over, but I can’t guarantee I’ll be uploading another chapter this month. I’m really sorry about that. 
> 
> On another note, this past month I’ve accumulated so many close calls with burning pizzas I can’t count them anymore. I’ve also actually burned pizzas a few times too. 
> 
> You don’t know true fear until you’re reading or writing and you realize your pizza was done five minutes ago. The race to the kitchen is truly a terrifying experience.


	32. Chapter 32

The Nether was unforgiving. Bad knew this. Even for someone born there it was harsh, all jagged lines and pits of lava. The mobs that hid in every corner were deadly, their wails haunting. 

Even for him the Nether wasn’t easy to traverse. 

He did it anyway. 

Bad leapt over a small lava pool, the heat washing over him as landed on the other side. He was used to the dangers, used to pushing them back and surviving. He, at least, had a high chance of surviving his trip. 

A human with little to no supplies had no chance of survival. 

Bad bit his lip as he glanced backwards, eyes drifting towards the fortress in the distance despite himself. It loomed, large and terrible, and he had to force himself to look away, gaze flicking over harsh red. 

Sapnap was somewhere out here, he had to be. 

The thought of the hunter dying by heat and dehydration was a bitter one, and Bad tried to push it away. But every time he caught a glimpse of a mob or lava he couldn’t help but wonder if that could be Sapnap’s cause of death. 

He didn’t want the hunter to die. 

Despite how angry Sapnap had been, how hostile, there had been moments that were almost... nice. Especially before everything that had happened in the Nether. There had been quiet moments, moments of companionship. He seemed to be hurting. 

Bad couldn’t forget the way Sapnap had looked right before he’d fled, shaky and trembling. He’d looked so fragile, back in the portal room. 

Bad didn’t want him to die. 

Every corner of the Nether whispered that he had. That it was impossible for him to survive as he was, alone and emotional and with nothing to help him but his wit. 

He hadn’t been in the fortress. 

Bad wished he had been. That he’d stayed put. That he’d found a hidden corner and stayed there. 

But his search through every corridor, every room, had proved to be fruitless. The only things he’d found were large abandoned portals, most hollow and cracked, and one weakly lit. 

Sapnap was gone. 

Bad didn’t want to think of how he’d die, alone and in pain, with the last interaction he’d had being about...

There was a lot of things Bad didn’t like to think about. 

Unbidden the image of Tubbo’s face, angry and hurting, replaced Sapnap’s. 

Tubbo’s words haunted Bad with every step he took, despite how he tried to block them out. They were present even as he searched for Sapnap. Even as he avoided mobs and climbed up walls. 

The pain in Tubbo’s voice as he’d talked to Dream, the way he’d shook...

He was hurting. He was hurting just as much as Dream. Just as much as Sapnap. 

They all were hurting. Bad wished they weren’t. In a perfect world Dream wouldn’t blame himself. Tubbo wouldn’t flinch when people touched him. 

Sapnap wouldn’t be gone, most likely dead. 

But this wasn’t a perfect world, and Bad needed to work with what he had. 

Bad tried to shake himself off, tried to focus on his mission. But...

He stared out at the vast red, the unending lava and dirt. The mobs that crawled over every inch. It was large and unforgiving, the Nether. Any traveler that wasn’t prepared would die easily, either by mob or their lack of water or even by falling into the lava below. 

Sapnap wasn’t prepared. 

Bad didn’t want him to die. 

But he also had been in the Nether for who knows how long, and he had others to look after now. He had a teen to take care of. 

While he didn’t want Sapnap to die, he also knew that his death wasn’t their faults. Not Dream’s, not his, and not Tubbo’s. It’d been his own stubborn pride, his own shock at what he’d seen. 

He could’ve come back. But he didn’t. 

Bad turned towards where he knew his portal was, heart heavy. 

At least he’d tried. That was all he could do. 

The trek back to the portal was way faster than his journey out into the Nether. This time he had a set goal and wasn’t wandering aimlessly, looking for something that might not be there. 

The portal loomed in the distance, cracked and ugly. It was makeshift, pasted together from bits of obsidian found in the fortress. Bad had worked painstakingly to craft it, piecing the chunks together like puzzle pieces. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked. 

Bad danced around a mob, ignoring its groans. The mobs here would fight him, but he was too fast, preferring to run around them than fight them head on. 

It’d just be a waste of time. 

It was with a careful maneuver and a slight jog that Bad walked into the portal, allowing the purple to fill his vision. 

It was always unnerving to travel through a portal. Your vision would sway, your knees would grow weak. For a split second you’d be blind to anything but purple, your own body unfamiliar. 

Bad hated it. 

(And it wasn’t because he could remember the first time he’d used one, the fear he’d felt and what had happened afterward. It wasn’t.) 

Knees weak, Bad stumbled out of the portal into a world without a roof. The sky blinded him, bright and blue. He squinted against it, hand held over his eyes as he walked towards the camp. 

“You’re back!” 

Bad had just enough time to bring his hand back down to his side before Tubbo ran to him, manhandling him until the teen was hidden in his cape. He froze, only loosening when he heard a tiny snort from behind him. 

The campsite had been so tense, ever since they’d set it up. There hadn’t been a moment where there wasn’t some sort of stilted conversation or awkward pauses. 

There was so much unsaid between them all, and it didn’t help that Dream was still so, so, quiet. 

Except at the moment he wasn’t, because he was running over to Bad, hair askew and and mouth twisted. He still didn’t look... happy, but he looked better. 

That was all Bad could ask for. 

“Did you happen to see Tubbo run past?” Dream asked, teeth bared, “I need him for my stew tonight.” 

Bad paused. 

“Ummm...” 

Tubbo, who was very obviously hidden behind him, tugged at his cape. 

“I am so going to crack his kneecaps for this,” he stage whispered, “All I did was not answer a question and now he’s resorting to cannibalism.” 

While the words were sarcastic, there was an edge to the last sentence that Bad decided not to mention. There had been a lot of unanswered questions, lately. 

Ever since the fight earlier today Tubbo was closed off, only speaking when he knew they weren’t going to pry. He’d been shaky, too, almost as quiet as Dream. 

It was nice seeing him animated, even if... 

Tubbo tugged on his cape again. 

Bad sighed deeply, headache from his travels in the Nether doubling. 

“I have no idea where he is Dream,” he said, “Maybe he’s hiding in some bushes or something.” 

Dream’s gaze very obviously flickered to Tubbo’s silhouette before he nodded slowly. He opened his mouth, paused, then closed it again. 

For a moment there was an awkward silence before Dream turned towards their campsite, shaky smile ghosting on his features. 

“Well I guess he’ll go hungry in those bushes, then,” Dream said, tone soft but teasing. 

Bad almost jumped out of his skin as Tubbo lunged out from behind him, trotting after Dream. He skidded to a stop a few feet away from him, keeping a distance between them. 

“No, wait, please,” Tubbo whined, “I’m really hungry.”

Bad watched as Dream reached out to ruffle Tubbo’s hair almost absentmindedly. Watched as they both flinched away, Tubbo dancing a step back. 

Things were still tense, but he hoped for a time when they could be better. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Sapnap sat in outskirts of the abandoned village, alone. His makeshift campsite, built from random items strewn about the village, barely did anything to hide him from his surroundings. It was pathetic, and Sapnap dutifully ignored how frustrated it made him feel. 

He didn’t have to be outside. He could hide in a house, like before, but the thought sent a shiver down his spine. It was too empty, far more empty than the outdoors surrounding it. 

The village was creepily abandoned, broken and a husk of what it might have been. What it must have been, once. 

He needed to leave it behind, to head back to the palace. 

But... 

But Bad’s words made him pause every time he thought about leaving. How could he go back to the king when...

When...

Sapnap huffed under his breath, gaze pinned on the distant flickering portal. 

He should leave the village. He should go back to the king and report back and just... be a good little hunter. 

The thought was bitter. 

Now that Bad had planted the seed of doubt, he couldn’t stop himself from allowing it to grow as he sat, deep in thought. He couldn’t just ignore what Bad had said, despite how frustrated it made him feel. It made him feel small, powerless. 

He hated that feeling. 

Sapnap tried to step back and look at the situation, ignoring the simmering frustration bubbling beneath his skin. 

The situation wasn’t pretty. 

He was alone. 

The thought made him wince. His chest ached, hands playing with a twig absentmindedly. 

He wasn’t used to being alone anymore. He was always with George. Always by his side. 

Sapnap stared at the portal, something painful lodged in his throat. 

He wanted George. Wanted his comfortable presence by his side, wanted to tease him. It was his way of being happy, of calming down. 

Hanging out with George was like a balm, soothing his wounds. It always made him feel secure. Safer than usual. 

And he never felt safe. Never. Not since his first night on the streets. 

He could still remember meeting George for the first time, could still remember being wary, angry and scared. But then they’d helped each other out, unconditionally, and something had clicked. Somehow he’d managed to trust, and things had been better for it. 

They’d grown up together, dreaming together, fighting together, surviving together.

Hunting together. Dying together. 

Sapnap shivered despite the warm weather. It still felt cold compared to the Nether, the breeze freezing. He didn’t have anything to cover up with, either. 

He wondered where George was. Maybe still at the portal, waiting like an idiot. Maybe back at the castle, ready for a new mission. 

Either way, he hoped he was okay. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Antrost smothered a groan as he stretched, muscles panging. His legs felt like jelly, worn and shaky from heavy riding. 

The horse, one that George had taken from a village, shimmied impatiently at his side. Ant couldn’t stop himself from glaring at the animal. How could it still have so much energy after that much riding? 

Ant himself wanted to melt into the forest floor and stay there. He almost sat down, legs protesting all the while, when a hand grabbed at his forearm. 

“Stay up,” George said, hauling him back to his feet, “If you sit down you’ll never stand up again until at least tomorrow. And we don’t have the time.” 

Ant nodded slowly, gritting his teeth. He understood that, he did. But he wasn’t used to this, all of the horseback riding and the nature and the villages. He was a prince who’d hardly ever left his castle much less the surrounding town. 

But he wouldn’t whine. Wouldn’t stop. 

He needed to get to Bad. To Dream. They could be hurt. Could be bleeding out in some random field with only each other for company. 

The thought made Ant set his shoulders and awkwardly sling a leg over the horses back, hauling himself into position. It only made his legs ache more, but he ignored it, turning to George. 

George was stuffing their food back into his pack, hurried in the way he didn’t bother to organize it. Hurried in the way he practically leaped onto the horses back, pushing Ant backwards to take his place at the reins. 

It was awkward, to say the least, the way Ant had to wrap his arms around George to stay on. George was a stranger. One that apparently cared about Bad too, but that didn’t mean much. 

He also cared about Sapnap, who Ant didn’t... really know. He felt bad about not caring about him as much, but he’d never met the guy. Who knows what he might be like. 

He was a hunter after all. 

The thought made Ant wince guiltily, staring at the back of George’s head. 

George prompted the horse into a trot, then something a bit faster, as Ant clutched at his shirt. The jarring motion of a horse running was something he felt like he’d never get used to, the way the hooves pounded into the dirt was scary and powerful. He bounced in the saddle, legs burning but mind elsewhere. 

Hunters, as a whole, were scary. They worked under his father, did whatever he asked of them. Ant could remember overhearing whispered conversations of inhumane missions. Of how badly some targets would be hurt when they were dragged into the throne room, bleeding and furious. 

Ant could remember running into some hunters in the corridors of the palace, once. They’d been harsh and angry and brutal. 

Now here he was, chasing someone down with a hunter with the intent of saving them. 

With the intent of saving his brother. His friend. 

George wasn’t exactly what he thought of when he thought ‘hunter’, either. He was lean, almost scrawny, and not very tall at all. Nowhere near as intimidating as his childhood fantasies. 

But he did have an edge to him, one that whispered dangerous. 

Ant’s conversations with him were short and stilted, aimed towards getting further towards their goal. They were never small talk. Never ‘How’s life been?’ or ‘What do you even do in the castle?’ It was always down to business. It’d been like that since the compass had first moved, hours ago. Maybe even a day ago. He couldn’t tell. 

Ant clutched at George’s shirt as the horse jumped slightly, bounding over a fallen tree. 

Every second spent getting closer to where their compass pointed, to where Sapnap and Bad and Dream might be, was tinged with impatience. George was stony and silent, hands tightening on the reins every few seconds like it was the only thing keeping him from falling. Every so often he glanced at the compass, concentrated frown on his face and brows furrowed. 

Ant couldn’t help but feel useless. Why was he even coming? It wasn’t like he’d be of much help. He preferred to help from the sidelines, to hide behind others. He knew how to fight, of course, but he couldn’t compare to people who fought for their job. 

Anxiety thrived in the tense silence, and Ant kept his head down, eyes staring unseeing at George’s back. 

He shouldn’t have done this. Shouldn’t have come. He’d only get in the way. Sure, he had brought resources. But what good would that do if a fight broke out? 

And what would he do, if a fight broke out? 

Ant tried to tell himself he was only coming for Bad. That he missed his friend. But...

But Dream was his brother, even if only half, and that had to count for something. He wouldn’t give up on him, despite what his father said. 

Despite what he’d seen. 

But that complicated things. Because here he was, riding on horseback with one of the hunters whose whole goal was to kill Dream. Or worse. 

(And bringing him back to his father was definitely the worse option. Ant could admit that. His father was cruel and angry and a king above anything else.) 

George had said he’d only kill Dream if push came to shove. But was the other option any better? Not at all. 

It was a lose-lose situation. 

George didn’t know Ant still cared about his brother. Didn’t know that he... 

(—long days spent alone in an all too large castle, long nights with no one to talk to but a guard, afternoons where being near his father felt dangerous—) 

Dream didn’t deserve to go back there. 

But then what was Ant even going to do? He’d only come because he’d been scared for Bad’s safety. For Dream’s safety. Now that he knew they were out of the Nether, that they were at least... somewhere in the Overworld, he didn’t know what to do. 

What was he going to do, if he found Bad with Dream by his side, dead? What was he going to do if Bad was dead, Dream standing victorious and free? 

Ant tightened his hold on George’s shirt and resolved to not think about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so. Um. I’ve ended up deciding to discontinue this fic for mental health and schedule reasons. I’m really sorry to anyone who was waiting for the next chapter, but I can’t continue. I’m going to be working on other stuff but I’m just not motivated or excited about this fic anymore and it shows whenever I try to write for it. I hope you can understand.

**Author's Note:**

> My Insta for fanart: soul_ivagant  
> My Twitter also for fanart: @SolsticWander


End file.
